


Barking Up the Right Tree

by spookywoods



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-14 19:40:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookywoods/pseuds/spookywoods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is planning to survive parading around Beacon Hills as his best friend's fiance for the sake of her career and family. He can be straight for Laura, he owes her this. He can be terribly charming when he wants to be. That is until he spends a heated night with a handsome stranger from his flight, who isn't at all who he seemed to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first venture into porn writing, so be--- gentle? I wanted to get some experience with it for my other, longer fic, and then--whatt? Plot happened. So the plot might be terrible, but it's the porn that counts? Right? 
> 
> As always, my beta, thecruixe, is amazing! Pretty much would never have hashed out this fic if it wasn't for her. 
> 
> And Emily, the smut goddess, who has turned me to the dark side.
> 
> Updated upon finishing: There have been some edits made to the first two chapters, but nothing that changes the plot. Just a few words, or drinking adjustments so Stiles doesn't get kidney failure. You know...stuff.

If his first flight was any indication of how his trip would be, Stiles was beginning to regret his decision to come at all. He’d faced delays, turbulence, a gropey, middle-aged man at the TSA checkpoint with coffee breath and a callous stare, not to mention the terrible airline food he’d been forced to buy mid-flight to settle his troubled stomach. His iPad was about to die, and of course, he’d forgotten the charger. He couldn’t decide if it was worth the risk to trek through all the people and bags to find a travel store with a supply of overpriced cords. Not to mention, he had a blistering headache.

But then again, LAX, or Los Angeles International Hellhole, had that effect on people. Or so he was telling his best friend, Scott, over the phone, while he waited for updates about his delayed connection to Beacon Hills Regional.

“It’s not too late to turn back now,” Stiles said. “I bet a flight back to Boston would leave sooner than my connection. I’d get back in time for class tomorrow.” He heard Scott’s heavy sigh on the other end. “You know, if I hadn’t promised her I’d come...”

“Yeah, I know, Stiles,” Scott replied. “But you owe it to Laura to do this for her.” Stiles didn’t need to be reminded of the little piece of Hale that was forever inside of him. The kidney Laura gave him was the greatest gift anyone could give, and she’d only known him for a little over a year at that point in their friendship. “You know,” Scott continued. “I’d totally have come, just to see a wolf among wolves. You know she’s supposed to be the tame one of the family, right?”

“I’m sure just as much as Laura gets that cutthroat business sense from her father, somewhere, there must be a Hale that gave her the sweet and kind disposition she has when--”

“You remember when she removed batteries from every electronic in your house, right?”

Stiles sighed. “Like it was yesterday.”

“It was last weekend,” Scott laughed. “I just wish I could be there for you this week. I’m sorry.”

Stiles half smiled. “Naw, don’t even, come on. A chance to speak at a national conference? I mean, who knew? You! A famous animal psychologist.”

“Stop calling me that,” Scott groaned. “I’m just a vet.”

“Oh please. And I’m just an associate professor of Folklore Studies at a prestigious Ivy League university.” Stiles sat up, but there was no getting comfortable in an airport chair.

There was silence and then Scott said, “But you are a professor of--”

“Not for long my friend,” Stiles interrupted. “You’re talking to the man who’s about to become the drunkest person ever to have been confined within these germ infested walls.”

“I’m not sure getting wasted is the best idea, Stiles,” his friend warned. “You’re about to announce a fake engagement to your straight female best friend. There’s no one there to monitor your drinking. Do you really want to be hungover for this?”

“No,” Stiles frowned, tapping his fingers on the armrest. “But I could definitely extend this bender ‘til tomorrow’s events have begun. After all, Laura isn’t getting in until five in the afternoon.”

Scott, bless his heart, continued his attempts at dissuading Stiles from drinking, beginning with a mention of the last time Stiles got trashed, which, in his defense, had been a few hours after he’d gotten the frantic call from Laura. She had been working so hard for the last five years in the east coast office, grooming herself to take the number two position at Hale & Hale, the firm started by her father and his brother, Peter. She would’ve been under her father’s wing, until he handed control over to her. His death was no surprise, Clark Hale had been battling cancer for almost two years, but it still gutted Laura when it finally happened.

But even worse, just days later, Laura’s uncle announced his plans to merge the firm with the Alpha Pack, a rival firm that had been trying to snatch up Hale associates for years. His plan, of course, needed board approval, and Laura was about to be named partner in her father’s place.

So when Scott had finished harping on Stiles’ past experiences, his age, his sweet but sassy drunken disposition and all the trouble it gets him into, the casual mention of Laura’s family shook Stiles from his depressive trance.

He shot up and began carting himself and his luggage to the closest bar, which unfortunately was a Chile’s Express. Beggars can’t be choosers, he thought.

“--and what has she always said? You’d love her family for all their crazy quirks.”

“If by love her family, you mean get harassed by her sassy uncle and hit on by her loner brother, D.J., then yes,” Stiles said as he slid onto a barstool and waved down the bartender. “Love will be all around. Jack,” he nodded at the blond twenty-something in front of him.

“Who’s Jack?” Scott asked.

“Jack’s the one who’s going to nurse my wounds and keep me sane during this trip,” Stiles explained. The bartender pulled a glass up from behind the bar, poured a shot of the caramel liquid, and placed it in front of him.

“Jack Daniels? Oh no, Stiles. Not whiskey, you know what happens when you--”

“Oh, phone’s dying. Gotta go, Scott.” Stiles hung up the phone and gave the bartender his card. “Keep it open,” he called.

Before he took a sip, he scrolled through his contacts aching to talk to someone else. He wondered what his father would think of him, sitting there, drinking in an airport bar, ready to board a flight and pretend be straight for the sake of his best friend’s future. Stiles decided he shouldn’t even go near the subject of marriage with his dad, and kept scrolling.

Then there was Lydia, no doubt working away at some project over at MIT. Not only would she nudge him on in the direction of a good distraction, but she’d do it while simultaneously insulting his wardrobe and hair. His blazer and hoodie combo never did impress her much, but he had grown out his hair since he’d last seen her. No, Lydia would probably die at the thought of Stiles parading himself around as a straight man among Laura’s family. Not that he couldn’t be a believable straight man, his sexuality wasn’t that obvious, but the fact of the matter was he hadn’t really been attracted to a woman since Lydia broke his heart in the 12th grade.

And with that thought, he downed the whiskey, signaled for another, and turned his phone off. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts of Laura and their impending fake nuptials. He was just supposed to sit and smile, be the best life partner he could be for Laura and show her family and the voting associates that she was a stable, competent legal mind. Because her Uncle Peter wasn’t exactly a shining example of responsibility.

The man was a bachelor playboy, first and foremost, and a lawyer second, or so Laura had always said.

Surprisingly, Stiles felt relief when he boarded the plane and settled into his seat. He convinced himself the relaxed sigh was a result of his departure from the fourth level of Hell-A-X, but in reality, he knew it had more to do with Laura, and the fact that she would help calm his nervous energy.

From seat 12A he watched everyone board the small plane, fitting tightly in either the single seats on the left, or the double seats on the right. They all looked worn out from traveling, and Stiles wondered if by chance, any of them, like him, were visiting the hometown of the Hales for the funeral. Stiles jerked his head up where it had been falling over, realizing he didn’t quite have as much control over his muscles as he’d thought. Scott was right about the whiskey...

He’d only had three drinks, and really, that last one he’d mixed with mozzarella sticks, so did it really count? He never expected the flight to be delayed so long, with take off rescheduled for 8 pm, that would make it 20 hours since he left his house in Boston. He hoped a hangover wouldn’t be added to how screwed up he’d be with the time change.

The flight attendant announced they’d be closing the door of the plane, which prompted Stiles to lean back and burrow himself further into the seat cushion. Focusing on the in-flight magazine tucked in the pocket at his knees, he wondered if they served liquor on planes of that size. Then a commotion drew his eyes to the front of the plane.

A last minute passenger rushed in, thrust his ticket in the flight attendant’s face, and nodded as she pointed down the aisle to the seat behind Stiles. The man struggled to catch his breath, his broad chest rising and falling rapidly. Stiles threw his head against the seat rest and closed his eyes, trying not to think about the sight he’d just taken in, trying, desperately, to slow his whiskey fueled pulse and growing arousal.

Why’d he have to be wearing a leather jacket? It was always the leather jacketed ones that got Stiles into trouble. Laura gave him a hard time about his tastes--take-charge strawberry blondes and husky bad boys. None of the people he actually dated fit that description, though, come to think of it, Matt had been wearing a leather jacket the night Stiles met him. That should’ve been the first thing to sound the alarm.

Staring ahead, it wasn’t just the man’s dark wardrobe that caught Stiles’ attention. Superficially, the guy was attractive. Dark hair, sculpted features, the kind of beard that was soft enough not to irritate Stiles’ bare face. No, because Stiles saw plenty of attractive people parading around the airport that day.

It was the heated hazel eyes that brushed past him. In that moment he thought of Laura’s eyes, filled with laughter and love.

That’s why Stiles sat with his lids closed. First of all, he couldn’t allow himself to be so turned on by someone who reminded him of his best friend. And secondly, that flash of recognition had led him down a path of memories, happy ones, of dinners where wine flowed and laughter followed, and before that, beer and hangovers, and late night drive-thrus, and walks of shame. He couldn’t help the goofy smile that painted its way up his face, or the dopey look he must’ve given the guy when he stopped to shove his bag in the overhead compartment. That was good. If Stiles could channel those feelings when he was trying to convince Laura’s family and coworkers, they’d have this whole charade in the bag.

Then the man’s thigh brushed against Stiles’ hand as he ducked behind him to take his seat.

“Uh, stewardess!” Stiles flew up and waved his burning hand in the air. The flight attendant hurried back and leaned down. Stiles mouth was agape and he had no idea what he could say except, “Sorry for the stewardess comment. That’s politically incorrect now, right?” She gave him a small smile and raised her eyebrows. He panicked and grabbed the in-flight magazine, flipping to the food and drink menus. “Could I possibly get a cocktail for take off? To help my nerves?” He gave her a sideways smile, “These small planes, they just, terrify me like nothing else.”

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at him in a moment of evaluation before giving him a nod and asking him what’d he’d like. After his tango with whiskey back at the airport, Stiles decided to shake it up, ordering a mojito, because apparently you could get that on a plane now if you were willing to pay. She took his credit card like she was taking his keys, and turned to the front of the plane. A leather clad arm reached out and grabbed hers, pulling her attention to the seat behind Stiles.

To the man behind Stiles.

“I would like one too,” an unamused voice said. “Whiskey. Straight up. Jameson, if you have it.”

“Is Jack Daniels okay?” the flight attendant asked. Stiles assumed she’d received a nod because she hightailed it forward and disappeared behind a curtain.

Stiles distracted himself with the various pictures and interesting lists in the magazine, but didn’t commit to reading any of the articles. Maui looked like a beautiful place to be this time of year, he thought, where he could get one those giant drinks topped with little umbrellas. He was supposed to go with Laura once, in fact her whole family had gone, but Stiles had to back out at the last minute to help plan Scott’s shotgun wedding. Thank the fates he hadn’t gone to Hawaii, because they’d know him then, and probably know he was not of the Laura persuasion.

The drinks came and as Stiles stared down at the makeshift mojito before him, he couldn’t help but say, “This is so not Hawaii.”

A half-amused chuckle carried over from the seat behind him, and an idea crept its way into Stiles’ head.

“Say,” he mused aloud and turned around to gaze at the leather clad stranger. “You wouldn’t want to toast to a safe flight? Down the hatch? Drink as men do?”

Thick eyebrows raised, the man nearly scowled and asked, “How many hatches have you downed tonight?”

To which Stiles feigned a scoff and grabbed his drink, “This’ll be my fourth. But I already graduated from the whiskey train.”

“Congratulations,” was all the man said. He knocked back his glass and finished half its contents. Staring back at Stiles, he motioned his head as if to ask if there was anything else.

“I’ll just turn back around and toast to a safe flight,” Stiles sank back into his seat. “By myself.”

The plane took off fine and after a few minutes the captain’s voice announced that electronic devices could be turned on. Stiles wondered if he turned around, would he find the stranger listening or watching something, or would he be sleeping, or staring off into space?  Stiles wished he had his iPad to distract him. Maybe he needed another drink...

This time, Stiles ordered a gin and tonic, and the stranger, a scotch and ginger ale.

“Graduating up,” Stiles muttered.

“Who gets trashed before a one-hour flight?” The man stood and opened the overhead compartment, pulling up his shirt in the process. Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles saw sculpted skin, and a happy trail the stuff of legends.  

Stiles turned his head to the side and shot his eyes up at the man’s face.  “I got trashed during my nine hour layover,” he replied. “I’m lucky to have gotten out before that storm hit, or I wouldn’t be here at all.”

“My flight was delayed out of JFK,” came the reply. “The whole east coast was a mess.”

“Well, when isn’t it?” Stiles smiled. He twisted around the edge of the seat and stared as the guy took his seat and gripped the binder he’d retrieved. He was looking blankly back at Stiles with those hazel eyes, and Stiles noticed in the reading lamplight how sharp and intimidating the guy looked. He was probably a lawyer, or a bouncer, or maybe even a cop. He’d taken off the leather jacket to reveal a fitted vneck that was  trying its best to hide the muscular form beneath it.  Despite the scowl the guy shot back at Stiles, he felt he had to keep the conversation going.

“What brings you to Beacon Hills?” Stiles asked, and then immediately realized what a probing question that was. He certainly didn’t want to reciprocate an answer, so he jumped before his drinking buddy could respond. “Not exactly a beacon of anything special, I mean, ami’right? Not quite the vacation destination, eh?”

The guy rolled his eyes, “Well, it’s not Hawaii.”

Stiles thought of Laura. “No,” he agreed. “It’s definitely not.” Shaking that line of thinking from his mind, he kind of wanted to ask the stranger what he did back in New York, but instead just sat back in his chair and cupped his drink.

About a minute passed and then he heard the guy clear his throat. “There’s nothing to do in Beacon Hills. No distractions. You know when you grow up somewhere,” he began, and Stiles felt the need to dip his head past the side of his chair, so the guy could tell he was listening. “And you can’t wait to just get out of there--”

Stiles smiled and interrupted the stranger’s train of thought, “But then when you go back, you think for a moment that you missed the place. Then something reminds you why you left in the first place, and it’s miserable from there on out. And all you want to do is just bolt.”

The silence made Stiles lean back and look to see if he’d said the wrong thing. But the guy seemed surprised, almost intrigued at what Stiles had said. For the first time, Leather Jacket’s face was relaxed, his eyebrows resting naturally and his lips just slightly parted.

“Well I heard there’s a club in the warehouse district,” Stiles said. “Sounds like a fun distraction, if you ask me.”

“The Jungle?” he half snorted. “That’s a gay club.”

“So I’ve heard,” Stiles raised his brows. He figured the stranger would tense up, obviously straight, and give him the shifty eyes. But instead, he cocked his head to the side and shrugged.

“Clubbing isn’t really my thing.” And then he flashed a smile at Stiles, like warm sunshine, or ice cream sundaes, or terribly sweet, poignant things, it made something in his chest tingle. Which lit a spark of hope in Stiles’ chest. Because Broad Chested Stranger might be all the distraction he needed--

\--and no. He wasn’t going to think like that. Laura was the reason he was there. He had to stay focused on being a devoted straight fiance. Green Eyes downed the rest of his drink and eyed Stiles with a questioning stare as if waiting for another topic.

“The pilot has just said we’re beginning our descent, so if you could put your tray tables up and seatbacks forward, I will come collect any remaining trash in the cabin.”

That seemed like Stiles’ cue to turn around and reevaluate his life choices. Hitting on a stranger on the plane to his best friend’s/fake fiancee’s father’s funeral? Yeah, real classy.

But when he was done mentally berating himself, Stiles couldn’t help but smile. Because Laura? She’d have been in the seat across from him egging the whole thing on. Half of Stiles’ hook ups had only happened because she nudged him the right direction. What did she always say? Live a little.

By the time the plane landed, Stiles was pretty sure he was wasted. He grabbed his messenger bag and stood up, right into a hard wall of warmth. Leather Jacket had stood to deboard just seconds before him, and out of reflex, Stiles was sure, grabbed Stiles’ forearms to steady him.

Stiles crowded up against him for a moment so he could get in front and turn around, mostly to hide his reddening face. The guy was strong, and had the hint of a scent--moss and sage, maybe?--Stiles just wanted to roll around in. Or maybe he just wanted to roll around with him. He walked off the plane with his pants a bit tighter, but lost any arousal he might’ve had when he realized Laura might’ve sent someone to pick him up.

The flight delay brought them in at 9:30, making it after midnight back in Boston. Stiles knew Laura was awake, and would probably want to know he made it there safely.

“Darling!” she answered. Her voice was a little hoarse, like she had been talking for most of the day. “Made it to the old B-H?”

“You sound awful,” Stiles frowned. He walked down the stairs of the terminal, which only had three gates, and headed for the rental car place, which, “Shit. It’s closed.”

“What’s closed? It’s after nine, everything closes in Beacon Hills.”

Stiles sighed and turned toward the baggage claim. “The rental car place. When did those places ever close? How small is this town?” Not that it mattered, Stiles thought, he was too drunk to drive anyway.

“Have you been drinking?” Laura laughed.

“I had to take the edge off, Mom,” Stiles replied.

“You have the crazy ability to be totally coherent and charming when you’re drunk.” Laura paused. “It’s not fair,” she whined. “I’m going to have be sober for this whole stupid thing.”

“Well not the whole time,” Stiles disagreed. “We’ll sneak in some R and R. It’ll be fabulous. You and me and a bottle of Sailor Jerry’s. What do ya say?”

“Never again,” she groaned. “Rum hangovers are the worst.”

He heard a beep in his ear and glanced at the phone’s screen. “Shit my battery’s about to die and I need to call a cab.”

Laura stayed silent for a few seconds and he knew she was trying to form a serious thought.

“Toodles, lady friend,” Stiles chimed. “Be safe. Me and Sailor Jerry will see you tomorrow.”

“I love you,” Laura replied. “I owe you.”

He smiled, “Let’s just say you prepaid for this with a kidney.” He heard her laugh and added, “I love you, too. Try and get some sleep, yeah? I know it’s hard, but we’re gonna get through this.”

“Goodnight, Stiles,” Laura said. And he hung up feeling a little better. As he waited for the baggage claim to start spitting out luggage, he glance around looking for taxis outside. There were none. He started searching the web on his phone for a taxi company, called the BH Taxi Service, ordered a cab, and stood buzzing in his skin.

He was finally there. This was really happening. Where Laura had been born, where she’d grown up, where they were going to announce their sham engagement. She was clearly stressed beyond anything he’d ever seen her be, even with law school and the bar exam. From everything he’d heard about her uncle, the guy didn’t make rash decisions. He had a plan, Laura had told Stiles, and the thing that distressed her the most was that it was impossible to figure out what he was doing.

Stiles lost his thoughts when the carousel jerked forward, spewing out bags and puttering in a circle. Before he knew it, the dozen or so people on his flight had collected their luggage, and he was left standing in front of a still carousel, bagless.

“Shit,” he said. He heard a heavy sigh from behind him. Wait, he knew that sigh. Stiles whirled around and was face to face with the Leather Clad Stranger. He couldn’t tell in the small aisle of the plane, but Stiles was just as tall as him, almost as broad in the shoulders, but nowhere near as muscular. Stiles realized he’d let his eyes travel up and down the guy’s body without even trying to hide it and crossed his arms nervously.

“This always happens,” the stranger frowned.

“Um, what?” he replied.

The guy looked around and pointed to the ticket counter, “We have to file a claim. They’ll fly them up tomorrow.”

Stiles was first to fill out the necessary paperwork and was promised by the attendant that his bags would be on the first flight up from LAX in the morning. They would deliver it to his hotel for him. He turned and saw the stranger looking down at his phone, tapping away at something on the screen.

“With no clothes and no ties, he stepped out into the night with a purpose,” Stiles mused. He felt strangely not himself, like without his stuff, he was free to do what he wanted. Only when it arrived, would he have to hunker down and fight the straight fight.

He nodded to the stranger and made for the doors of the airport, aching to get to his hotel room and raid the mini bar. Or maybe he’d have the taxi stop somewhere. He had plenty of time to continue his bender until his loving fake fiancee arrived.

The cool night air felt amazing on his skin. Checking his phone, he realized it had been about thirty minutes since he called for the taxi, and yet the pick up area was completely deserted. Past the traffic lanes, on the other side of the road, the mostly empty airport parking lot was lit by a few dull lights.

“Waiting on a ride?” The stranger was staring at Stiles, eyeing him with interest and anticipation.

What an interesting turn of events, he thought. Stiles smiled and clutched the strap of his bag. “You offering?”

The guy cocked his head to the side and nodded. “I was.” He waved forward and started walking. “C’mon, the car’s this way.” Pushing the voice in his head that was screaming THIS IS A BAD IDEA to the back of his mind, Stiles followed him to a black sports car. “What hotel are you at?”

“The Marriott Downtown,” Stiles replied, then jerked his head. “But--and it’s totally okay if you don’t want to--I was going to pick up some beverages, you know, so I won’t have to pay out the ass for mini bar liquor.”

“More drinking.” He stated flatly.

“Hey, I’m planning a bender they’ll sing songs about,” Stiles admitted. “And for that, I need tequila.”

“You’re lucky,” the guy smiled. “I know a place that’s still open.”

And that’s how Stiles found himself running into Staple Street Liquor at a quarter to eleven, fumbling through the aisles looking for a bottle of 1800. He was trying not think about Leather Jacket’s lingering scent, how it had overwhelmed him when they’d sat in the car. Stiles licked his lips and grabbed a bag of chips, eyes falling to his own slender fingers. A flash of the guy’s hands on the steering wheel made Stiles blink and exhale, and run back the fridge for two six packs of a local microbrew. He paced back and forth for a minute, eyes darting around the labeled aisles, before he let out a decided sigh. He practically tiptoed down the toiletries aisle looking for---No, he told himself.

But if anything, Laura had always taught him to be prepared.

When he got back to the car, he couldn’t contain his distress. “The cashier thought I had a fake ID,” he fumed. “I’m like, ‘Buddy, do you even know who I am?’ Which, in his defense, of course he didn’t. Well, he did, since he had my ID in his hands. But I mean, I’m 29 years old, can’t you tell by the quality of alcohol I’m buying?” He huffed and pulled out the bottle of tequila. “I never bought stuff this nice when I was underage.”

“Is that so?” Stiles laughed and sat back in his seat. The guy didn’t take his eyes off Stiles, as if he was calculating, deciding if he should say what he was about to say. “You’re not planning on drinking all that alone?” he raised his brows. “Are you?”

“Was planning on it,” Stiles murmured. “Why?” He turned and threw a devious smile at his driver.

Leather Jacket turned his head forward and started the car. “Put your seatbelt on,” he ordered. “I know the perfect place to start a bender.”

 

Stiles finished climbing the fire escape of the old train depot and exhaled as a rush of adrenaline shot through him. Leather Jacket wasn’t far behind him, and had the bag of booze in his arms.

Stiles gazed across the roof and over the town of Beacon Hills. There were a surprising amount of lights scattered across the horizon, a huge forested area to one side, and large, rocky hills, shadowing over the valley. Everything was illuminated even more by a bright, almost full moon.

“That’s the preserve,” came a voice from behind him. Leather Jacket was sitting down and sprawling out with his arms behind him. “I used to spend a lot of time there.” He kind of wiggled his nose and added, “Had my first kiss there.”

“Yeah?” Stiles thought the town reminded him of where he grew up. Then he remembered somewhere out there, among those lights, was Laura’s family’s house. Shit, he cringed. He grabbed the bottle of tequila, twisted the cap off, and put it to his lips, feeling it burn down his throat. What was he even doing in Beacon Hills? He suddenly got anxious and blurted, “And your first time? Where was that?”

He didn’t look surprised, but Leather Jacket raised his brows. He nodded and looked down. “Unfortunately, the train car down in the depot.”

“So you brought me to the necking hot spot of Beacon Hills?” Stiles laughed and sat down. He felt his jeans tighten a bit at the change and realized he was half hard. He took another swig of tequila and handed the bottle to his companion. Their skin touched as the bottle changed hands, and Stiles felt a pull to keep the contact, but shook it off. “You’ve got to catch up with me,” he said. He felt his pulse quickening as he started to see where the night was headed.

“First kiss was Lydia Martin, in the tenth grade,” Stiles closed his eyes. He could remember it like it was yesterday. But then--his eyes shot open and he laughed. “Boy, that was a kiss to remember. She kicked me in the nuts a few seconds later.”

The guy laughed, a husky, smooth laugh, and downed another shot. Their eyes met and Stiles’ face heated as he spoke the next answer. “My first fuck was freshman year of college,” he watched Leather Jacket’s face as he continued, “Danny. In a dorm shower.” His drinking companion’s face seemed more relaxed at that, and Stiles smiled, unable to break the stare they were sharing.

“And your last relationship?”

Stiles blinked and looked away. Matt hadn’t exactly been a relationship. “Well, it’s not something that’s easy to explain in a one sentence answer,” Stiles replied. He licked his lips and glanced back at the man next to him. “But you didn’t bring me up here to talk.”

Leather Jacket leaned in, lifted Stiles’ chin and confessed, “I didn’t bring you up here to talk.”

With that he closed the gap between them. Stiles let his eyes fall shut, waiting for the contact, but it didn’t come. Instead, he felt breath on his lips. He opened his eyes and blinked when those hazel eyes bore into his.

“How did we get here?” Leather Jacket asked, eyes full of what Stiles thought was fear and lust.

Stiles sighed, and grabbed his shoulders. “We had some drinks and got in a car,” he smiled, then leaned in and closed his eyes. Leather Jacket’s lips were warm and wet, and tasted like tequila. Stiles wasted no time in closing the gap between their bodies, swinging his leg over the other man’s lap and straddling him. He felt strong arms wrap around him and pull him in closer, chest to chest, and lean back. At that, he deepened the kiss, made it wet and more heated, pushing and probing with his tongue.

After Stiles deepened the kiss, the hips below him started rocking up and grinding into his, pressing into his erection and sending a jolt of pleasure through him. Stiles moaned and broke the kiss. Lips migrated to his neck and began trailing kisses down it as he pushed down on the body below him.

“I could take off this hoodie,” Stiles murmured and rocked his hips down again.

The guy’s eyes were rolling back in his head when he answered, “We’re on the roof of an abandoned building.”

“So?” and then there were hands cupping his ass. “Christen my first time in Beacon Hills on a rooftop.”

“It sounds way better than it is,” Stiles laughed at that and sat up. The change in position caused his erection to rub against the one below him, and he let out a long moan.

“Mmm,” he closed his eyes.

Leather Jacket continued rubbing his hands up and down Stiles lower back as they rocked together. “Wouldn’t you rather be in a hotel room, on a mattress, with pillows and sheets,” and there were those hips again, rocking into his. “And four walls to echo all the sounds I’ll be ripping out of you?”

Stiles stopped and slowly smiled, “Is that a promise?” He stood up quickly and grabbed the bottle of tequila. Rushing down the fire escape, he felt his arousal spreading, heating his whole body.

Leather Jacket wasn’t far behind him, rattling his keys in hand and staring Stiles down with lusty eyes and a half smirk. He gave Stiles a nod and got behind the wheel.

“I shouldn’t be driving,” he muttered.

Stiles laughed. “Not a car.”

 

The whole five minute ride, Stiles was palming himself through his pants while the object of his arousal gave him half glances, shaking his head and gripping the steering wheel a bit harder.

While Leather Jacket parked the car, Stiles had to check into the hotel and pretend not to be as drunk and aroused as he was. He didn’t think he fooled the front desk attendant, whose eyebrows didn’t raise quite too high when Siles felt a hand wrap around his arm.

The attendant slid a room key across the counter and said, “Room 415.”

“415,” Stiles repeated and grabbed the key. He met Green Eyes and thanked the attendant.

Once the elevator doors were closed, their lips were locked together again, in a slow, warm kiss. Stiles pressed into him deeper, throwing his arm around his neck, and shifting his messenger bag around so his hips could get closer. The elevator doors opened and they stumbled out, still locked together. Stiles pulled away, looking at the signs, and led Leather Jacket down the hallway. He slid the room key in the door and kicked it open.

“Get it off,” he heard as the door slammed shut. Hands were on him, shuffling him out of his blazer. Stiles grabbed the bottom of his hoodie and pulled it over his head. All that remained was his white undershirt. He grabbed at the body in front of him. Leather Jacket was no longer in the jacket, and Stiles felt the sheer vneck clinging to the muscled skin beneath it.

“This needs to come off,” he whispered, and let his hands slide up the toned chest. He curved his fingers in the neck of the shirt and pulled, ripping the shirt down the middle and pulling it off the guy’s arms. “Hey,” Stiles murmured as lips were suddenly tracing the line of his jaw. “I can’t keep calling you Leather Jacket in my head.”

“Derek.” Two hands slid up Stiles’ back and pulled their bodies together. “My name is Derek.”

He couldn’t remember taking off his own shirt, but Stiles was suddenly on the mattress, on his hands and knees, glancing back at Leather Jacket---Derek with lust-lidded eyes.

Derek had a hand on his ass, rubbing it and squeezing roughly, while his other hand traced Stiles’ spine with a soft touch, like he was studying it. “Your back,” Derek moaned.

Stiles felt a wave of pleasure with every touch, and pushed back into Derek with increasing need. The other man took the hint, and started to pull Stiles’ jeans down his hips. Stiles went to undo them, but Derek slapped his hand away and smirked. He undid Stiles’ pants and slowly pulled both the denim and boxer shorts down around Stiles’ knees. Derek let out a hum of approval, leaned over and ran his hands back and forth from Stiles’ shoulders down to his lower back.

The guy seemed to like touching his back, Stiles smiled. That was the last coherent thing he could remember before Derek shoved his face in the fold of Stiles’ butt, lapping at him with wet pressure.

“Oh god,” Stiles moaned. Derek’s hands were pulling his cheeks apart as his tongue dipped in and out of him, and Stiles would’ve been embarrassed of the sounds he was making if he’d been sober. But he was drunk, in a strange place and getting pulled apart by a strange, incredibly attractive, man.

Live a little.

“More,” Stiles said, but regretted it the moment Derek pulled away and sat up.

He looked back at him and almost gasped. Derek’s pupils were blown, his hair a bit disheveled, and the slight glisten of sweat added a sheen to his sculpted chest.

“I don’t have anything,” he frowned, but one of his hands was still caressing one of Stiles’ butt cheeks.

Stiles pointed to the pile of his clothes by the door. “Hoodie pocket, now,” he ordered.

The loss of Derek’s hand made Stiles shiver, so he reached down and stroked his erection, humming softly at the touch and closing his eyes. A hand batted his away, and then pulled his pants completely off. Suddenly the cold press of a lubed finger made Stiles put both hands in front of him to prop himself and straighten out.

Derek rubbed his hand up and down the length of the fold, teasing Stiles’ hole with a push every time. His other hand kept rubbing his back, squeezing his shoulders and neck and then tracing his spine. It made Stiles warm with anticipation.

Unable to handle anymore teasing, Stiles thrust his hand back and pulled a cheek to the side, making it easier for Derek to enter him. “Inside, now,” Stiles practically yelled.

And then a thick finger breached him, and it felt amazing. He was so turned on, he didn’t even need time to adjust. Stiles pushed back on it and let out a whine of pleasure. Derek pressed in and out, so slowly it was almost painful. He stopped every few thrusts and shoved his tongue in and out instead. The feeling was almost foreign to Stiles, who hadn’t had anyone rim him in years.

After a few more thrusts, Derek added another finger.

“Oh, that’s good,” Stiles breathed, and fell to his elbows so his back was angled just right. “More,” he moaned.

Derek was kissing the skin of his lower back when he added the third finger to his slow and torturous thrusts. “Is that what you want?” he asked and bit down softly.

“Unnnnuhh,” was all Stiles could bring himself to reply through his strangled breaths. “Want you inside me,” he managed.

Then the hand on his back slid off, and suddenly Derek had pulled away. Stiles whipped his head around, wondering if he’d said the wrong thing, but caught sight of Derek bending down and stepping out of his briefs. He leaned down and gave Stiles an urgent kiss, before grabbing the box of condoms beside them and tearing it open. Stiles watched as Derek struggled to roll one down his uncut cock. He met Derek’s eyes and smiled, sat up and grabbed the other man’s hands.

“Screw this,” Stiles said, and tore the condom off. He sank down, wrapped a hand around the base of Derek’s cock, and put his mouth around the head. He watched as Derek’s eyes rolled back when Stiles started sinking further down, and he raised a hand to stroke his balls.

A hand started combing through his hair and the other was moving from his neck to his shoulder, squeezing every time Stiles went down and came back up. He pushed down as far as he could go, holding it there and then coming up for air. He licked and kissed, leaving behind a wetness and then stroking it slowly while he gazed up at Derek. Their eyes met and Stiles couldn’t wait another second.

He grabbed another condom and bit it open with his teeth. Taking care as he pinched the tip, rolled it down Derek’s cock, and pulled it up, he made sure the condom was fitted to the foreskin. Stiles gave it a few test strokes, causing Derek to moan and pull him in for a kiss.

“Thank you,” Derek breathed and licked into Stiles’ mouth.

Stiles bit down and smiled, “No problem,” flipping around and returning to the previous position on his hands and knees. Derek pressed his palm into Stiles’ back and teased his entrance with a finger. Stiles whined, “Come on!” And pushed back into the body behind him.

Derek slid his hand down and cupped Stiles’ neck. He pushed into him slowly, stopping every few seconds to let Stiles get adjusted. It was almost too much at first, but Stiles breathed in and out and swallowed down when Derek bottomed out. Hands were grasping his shoulders, sliding down his sides, and when the soft thrusts began, Stiles felt something inside him turn on.

“Yeah,” he moaned, and Derek took the cue, pulling out farther and pushing in harder. Stiles started moving with him as the ache of being full fell away and the only thing he felt was the electric current between them.

When Derek’s hands stopped their gentle wanderings on his sides and dug into his hips, it shifted their position causing the next thrust to hit his prostate.

“Oh fuck,” Stiles yelled, and dropped his head against the mattress. Derek increased the pace and just started pounding into him, hitting the same spot and making him practically scream with every forward motion.

Stiles couldn’t help but furiously stroke his own abandoned cock, making the heat of it all that much more intoxicating. He was close, and curled his hand up, stroking all the way down from where Derek was fucking into him, past his taint, and back to his balls. Derek noticed, and put one of his hands there, stroking the area so Stiles could wrap his hand around his cock.

He had no idea what was coming out of his mouth at the point, but it was muffled by the mattress. Derek was all over him, leaning down and leaving wet kisses or soft bites down his spine. Brushing his hands over Stiles’ back and cupping his ass, Derek increased the pace and started making more noise, startled moans and long sighs. It made Stiles flush with pleasure knowing Derek was enjoying this as much as he was.

Stiles felt everything tighten and in desperate, haphazard strokes, he came with Derek’s slowed thrusts into him and a handful of long, breathy moans. He gripped his cock and pulled, bringing himself through the climax, bolts of pleasure shooting through him.

Then Derek pulled out quickly, and the loss of him made Stiles let go of himself to turn around. But Derek was there, pulling himself under Stiles and taking his cock into his mouth. He lapped up the cum, and pushed his mouth all the way up Stiles’ fading erection, ripping a scream from him as more bursts of pleasure rippled through him.

“Oh my god,” Stiles moaned, and arched his back when Derek kept sliding up and down, drawing out the orgasm to an almost painful length. He didn’t stop, not until Stiles couldn’t hold himself up any longer, and dropped his face into the comforter. When Derek finally dropped his head back down, it was to lean over and lick up more cum off of Stiles’ leg, while his fingers trailed their way up and pushed back inside Stiles. With languid thrusts, and long licks, Derek had teased Stiles into a moaning mess within minutes. Derek didn’t stop touching, kissing, and licking until Stiles was getting hard again, and then he started laughing.

He felt Derek’s mouth curve into a smile and then bite down on his thigh. Stiles’ arousal jumped, and he grabbed Derek’s arm.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” Stiles grinned. He turned and pulled Derek up the mattress, throwing him down on his back so he could straddle him.

Derek raised an eyebrow, “Oh really?”

Stiles leaned in and kissed Derek while his hand felt around for the bottle. While he distracted Derek with his tongue, he managed to get some lube on his hand, sneaking it under him and slicking it up and down Derek’s erection. Derek moaned and watched with wide eyes as Stiles propped himself up on his chest and guided Derek’s cock into him.

As he sank down slowly, his eyes never left Derek’s. The man’s face was tense with pleasure, and when Stiles started riding him at a torturously slow pace, Derek couldn’t stop the half-pained groans. His hands were tracing Stiles’ chest, moving down and drawing circles on his abdomen. One hand dropped to his thickening cock, and Derek started stroking it, pulling at his balls, and thumbing the head. Stiles couldn’t keep a rhythm through all that, so he grabbed Derek’s hand and shoved it in his mouth. That got a deep grunt from Derek, who kept his hands braced on Stiles’ chest after that.

Stiles kept a steady rhythm for a while, eliciting a few, “Yeah, like that,” comments from Derek, who was arching off the mattress and had his head thrown back.

“You’re a mess,” Stiles moaned, and then Derek’s hands slid under his thighs, cupped his butt, and the other man’s hips started pounding into him. “Fuck,” Stiles cried. Derek was hitting the spot again, and he was beginning to lose it as that tortured heat shot through him.

Derek shoved up into him, then rose up and embraced Stiles, pushing him back so that their positions were reversed, and Stiles was now looking up at him. Derek stretched Stiles’ legs out in a V and started his hard thrusts again.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Stiles couldn’t stop his mouth from going off, and every movement made him blister with hot pleasure. Derek leaned down to nip at Stiles’ neck, sucking down his pulse point and then biting down on his collarbone. Stiles fucking shrieked at that, and threw his arms up to grab at Derek’s face. He pulled their lips together and felt like he was so desperately close, but he needed something else to get him there.

Stiles grabbed his aching cock and started pulling at it frantically. With his other hand, he clutched at Derek’s neck hard enough to bruise, which sent the other man forward, pushing into him with more force than before. Stiles was practically crying as each wave hit him so hard. But it wasn’t enough. He thumbed the head of his cock and kept stroking.

And then between heavy breaths, Derek looked down at him and said, “Who’s the mess, now?” And Stiles came so hard he felt like he’d been ripped in half. He felt his come spill out over his hand as Derek’s thrusts turned in heavy rolls of his hips. Derek let out a staccato of moans, tensed up and then finally, with a shout, came after a deep thrust into Stiles. He buried his face in Stiles’ neck and rode it out with slow, fluid movements. Derek mouthed his way up Stiles’ jaw, and then pressed a kiss to his lips before rolling off of him and falling on his back.

They lay there, chests heaving. Derek shucked off the condom, and traced his fingers on his stomach. It was a while before Stiles felt the need to say something.

“You were right,” he breathed, and turned to look at Derek’s blissed out face.

“Was I?”

Stiles smiled and rolled to his side, stroking Derek’s arm. “That would’ve been hell on the roof of the train depot.” Which got him a laugh, and then a series of playful, wet kisses.

“You know,” Derek said as he sucked a mark against Stiles’ collarbone, “I don’t have my bags, and you ruined the only shirt I have.”

“That was the plan,” Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, his skin buzzing as he felt soft kisses trail their way down his chest and stomach. And there it was again, that tongue, licking him up and nipping at the skin below his navel. “Oh my god,” Stiles shivered.

“Let me introduce you to my plan,” Derek smiled and lowered himself in between Stiles’ legs. “It has three parts.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (It's been brought to my attention that getting ridiculously drunk with one kidney can be dangerous, but also in some situations, is okay to do occasionally. But who knows, I read it on the internet.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You,” she said. Stiles saw her staring at her brother. And when their eyes met, Derek almost looked terrified with what would come next. He glanced at Stiles who gulped and looked away. “Stop taking my stuff,” she barked. 
> 
> Derek’s eyes went wide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was kind of fun to write. 
> 
>  
> 
> Seriously would be lost without my beta, thecruixe, in all her judgmental glory ;-)

“Hey.”

Stiles squirmed as someone poked him. He didn’t want to open his eyes, but then it all flooded back to him. Derek. Hazel eyes. Ripped body. Soft, dark hair. Lots of tequila. Lots of sex. And that way Derek cupped his neck and kissed him after Stiles sucked him off. The way he looked back at Stiles as they lay there, side by side, like he was just as wrecked as he was.

He was in bed with his one night stand from the plane.

“The front desk just called,” Derek stated. Stiles opened his eyes and took in the room. Derek was sitting on the edge of the bed, still completely naked, with his back to Stiles. Sunlight from the window poured in over the mess of their clothes, the rumpled comforter, and reflected on the glass of the empty bottle of tequila.

And Derek in the natural light was like a dream. Every shadow from the night before, every curve of muscle, it was real and it was turning Stiles on, again. Oh, and he was still drunk.

Shit, Stiles thought as his eyes scraped over the big, ornate symbol tattooed on Derek’s back.

“What’d they want?” Stiles groaned and threw his legs over the side of the bed. He was definitely a bit sore, but found his footing and walked to the bathroom. He definitely threw a glance at Derek, who was following Stiles’ movements with interested eyes.

Turning on the light, Stiles almost gasped when he saw the hickies trailing down his collarbone. And one prominent mark adorning his hip. That had been the second part of Derek’s “plan”.

Derek walked up behind him and nestled his nose against Stiles’ neck. “They wanted to let Genim know his bags had been delivered by the airline.” He ran his hands down Stiles’ sides, and Stiles couldn’t help but lean back into him.

“Yeah,” Stiles said as he watched Derek’s reflection in the mirror. “I don’t exactly use that name, normally,” he laughed and pulled away. “Maybe I should go get my bag--”

Derek tensed and frowned, “Yeah, I should probably get going.” He exited the bathroom and left Stiles standing, mouth agape, disappointed.

He walked out, picked up his boxers and put them forcefully on. Looking over at Derek, who was doing the same, he realized the guy was frowning back at him, like Stiles had killed his hamster.

“Derek,” Stiles sighed and threw up his hands. “I wasn’t asking you to leave. I was gonna say that while I’m getting my bags, I could pick up some food from the fancy continental breakfast counter in the lobby.” Stiles stood up and approached the now neutral looking Derek, who still managed to look upset without a frown. “I don’t have to be anywhere until this afternoon,” Stiles leaned in. “And I do believe you said we could--”

“Breakfast would be nice,” Derek interrupted, and Stiles wasn’t sure if he just wasn’t a morning person or if he’d really done something to offend him. When Derek pulled him down for a kiss, Stiles felt secure in the assumption the guy wasn’t too upset him with him.

Stiles quickly threw on the rest of his clothes and meandered down to the lobby, pretty much convinced he was still drunk. Yeah, he made himself and Derek drink two glasses of water each after round two, but then they’d played Never-Have-I-Ever, which ended in body shots and handjob wall sex.

That’s how he had learned that Derek was a closeted Fleetwood Mac junkie, a med school dropout, and that he could never go back to Belgium where there was a warrant out for his arrest.

“What did you do?” Stiles had asked as he lay on his stomach, his face propped up on his elbows.

Next to him, Derek let out a deep laugh and answered, “I honestly don’t know if it was the dine and dashing or the public nudity.” Stiles didn’t stop laughing until Derek bit his shoulder. “What about you? Ever had a run in with the law?”

“Well, it’s kind of hard not to, being a teenage boy whose father was the sheriff.” Stiles grinned when he thought about all the hell he’d put his father through when he was a teenager. “Never officially been arrested.” Stiles got distracted when Derek began running a hand up and down his back. “But, uh, but my dad did make a few things just sort of go away.”

“Like what,” Derek said.

Stiles had started absentmindedly tracing Derek’s collarbone. “Taking an inmate transfer van and kidnapping a fellow student.”

“You stole a police car?” Derek had snorted.

“Temporarily misappropriated.”

And then it got fuzzy after that, because Stiles had closed his eyes and let Derek give him the most sensual massage he’d ever had, or at least, it had seemed like a massage until Stiles was writhing under Derek and begging for something else to rub up against him.

 

The elevator doors opened and Stiles shook himself from the memory. He needed to make Derek come apart in all the ways he’d done to Stiles.

He made the attendant put his bags on a cart, so that his hands would be free to collect breakfast for his sex bender partner. Oh dear god, that’s what this was? He couldn’t wait to tell Laura. She’d need something to distract her, make her laugh, during the stressful week to come.

When he arrived back at the room, Derek was clasping a towel around his waist and nursing an open beer. Hair disheveled, skin glistening, he’d just gotten out of the shower, and looked like a wet dream.

“Nice,” Stiles smiled as he dropped the array of foods he’d confiscated. “First question,” he grinned, “You want the ‘loops or the Flakes?” Derek stared at him and grabbed a bagel.

“Okay. More for me, then.”

Stiles had barely finished downing his dry Fruit Loops when Derek had him pressed against the wall, mouth pressed deeply on his. The towel had fallen away and Stiles let his hands fall and cup Derek’s ass.

The kiss was slow, methodical, and ripe with need. Derek was tense, but it didn’t translate to urgent. His hands eventually shoved their way up Stiles’ hoodie, one wrapping around his back and the other teasing a nipple. Stiles could feel his arousal from earlier awakening, and slowly walked them over to the bed.

Derek fell back, already completely naked, his half hard cock bouncing against his thigh. Stiles groaned at the sight before him, all the muscle and skin, and the hopeful look in those hazel eyes when he stepped forward and took off his sweatshirt. This time when Stiles bent down above him, Derek was the one wrapping his legs around his waist, inching their bodies closer.

Stiles was coming off his alcohol high, and he wanted to enjoy this, and he wanted to fuck that frown off of Derek’s face. So instead of rushing down to start an adoration of Derek’s cock, he caught Derek’s mouth in another kiss and went to town, mapping out his mouth with his tongue and biting at his lips. Derek had his hands roaming all over Stiles’ back--always with the back--and was desperately trying to rock up into him. Stiles moved his legs so he was straddling one of Derek’s, and grinded into Derek’s hard on. Stiles broke their kiss and held Derek’s hands over his head, grinning as he riddled the man’s neck with kisses.

He wanted to worship Derek, to kneel down and pay homage to the man who gave him one of the best nights of sex he’d ever had. He tongued a nipple, toyed with the other one, then brought their mouths back together for a deep kiss. He had no idea how long they stayed like that, chest to chest, kissing and touching, but Stiles felt like it was the most intimate thing they had done yet.

They made out until Stiles’ lips were swollen and wet, so he bit on Derek’s lower lip and made his way down his chest. The night before, he remembered Derek hardly ever closing his eyes. But now, when Stiles looked up, Derek’s eyes had squeezed shut and his brows furrowed in a maze of tense pleasure. He couldn’t believe how beautiful he looked like that.

When Derek seemed to realize the touching had stopped, he opened his eyes expectantly. Stiles sent him a smile and grabbed his upper leg, pulling it to his mouth so he could trace a line with his tongue down to Derek’s hip. He grabbed the reddening cock and kissed the head, then the base, and licked a line up between the two, smiling when Derek moaned softly. Stiles started to wrap his mouth around the head, but Derek’s hands were in his hair, pulling him up into another heated kiss.

Stiles broke away and left a kiss on his navel before returning to his position and lowering his mouth around the leaking head of Derek’s erection. He let it slide all the way to the back of his mouth before he came back up and licked it some more. Holding Derek’s legs open, he dropped down lower and sucked on his balls, then licked back up and repeated the whole thing. He hummed whenever Derek moaned, and thought he heard him mutter, “Christ,” into the pillow. And when Derek slid his hand down to hold the base of his cock, Stiles started bobbing up and down, sucking him off with more technique than he was usually given credit for.

He looked up and found Derek watching, with wide, intense eyes. Stiles kept the stare and dropped all the way down, taking the whole thing. He swore Derek glared at him just before he threw his head back and let out a tortured whine.

Stiles pulled up and pushed the erection down on Derek’s stomach, licking his way down his balls to his entrance. He teased between the two, brushing his tongue down and his kissing his way back up.

“Turn over,” Stiles said, and Derek acquiesced. Stiles had to stop and take it in--Derek on his hands and knees. His muscles were tense and framed the tattoo on his back. Stiles traced it with his fingers and caressed his hands down Derek’s back until they rested on his ass. Something about this felt different than the night before. Everything they’d done had been in the spirit of hooking up. But this? As he ran his hands over Derek’s lower back and felt the need seething out of the other man, Stiles realized this might be something else entirely.

So he began to run his tongue over Derek’s hole and the sounds coming out of Derek’s mouth were criminal. He would throw his head back and sigh, or let it fall to his chest in a long, drawn out moan. Stiles opened him up with care, tracing circles around his entrance with his thumbs, pushing in with the tip of his tongue. When Derek kept shoving back, Stiles ducked his head down and mouthed Derek’s cock, taking all of it while he continued to rub his entrance at the same time. That got a good response, so he kept at it for a few minutes until his own erection felt painful in his jeans.

He stood up and took off his pants in a hurry, leaning back down and burying his face in Derek’s crease. Stiles lazily stroked his own cock as he began a rougher assault on Derek with his tongue. Eventually, Derek started rocking back into his touch and ordering more.

“Bossy, bossy,” Stiles sighed against his hip. He went for the lube on the nightstand, but Derek was already holding it out, looking over his shoulder with a pleading stare.

And so Stiles finished opening him up with two, then three fingers, taking his time and memorizing the way Derek’s body tensed under his touch. When a push of his fingers hit the spot, Derek whipped around and crashed their mouths together, desperately grabbing at Stiles’ hips. He pulled them together and leaned them back until they were horizontal. Stiles stroked himself, then grabbed a condom from the nightstand.

Derek was still trying to kiss him when he pulled back to put it on. This sent two hands death gripping his forearms as he pulled away. The man was glaring at Stiles, like how dare he stop. His hands were everywhere, Stiles’ chest, his thighs, his arms. Derek was already blissed out on touch, finally ripe with need.  After the condom was taken care of, Derek licked his lips and pulled Stiles back down.  

“Woah, now, big guy,” Stiles glared when Derek’s hips shot up to connect them. “We’re gonna take this one slow,” he said as he started stroking Derek’s cock.

But the other man was having none of it, and in a tumble of pushes and pulls, reversed their positions, leaving Stiles straddled and breathy.

“What--”

Derek grabbed Stiles cock and pushed himself down on it fast, faster than was probably comfortable. “Oh sweet lord,” Stiles moaned as the squeeze overwhelmed him. “Jesus, Derek.”

They were still for a moment before Derek pressed his hands to Stiles chest and started grinding his hips. It was obscene, the face he was making, half pain, half pleasure, but Stiles’ liked it that way. Derek’s desperate moans were loud, louder than what Stiles was used to hearing out of him. Stiles grunted with almost every movement, watching Derek’s cock slide up and down his stomach, precum leaving a trail. Derek’s arms, tensing and constricting as he moved up and down.

Stiles wasn’t going to last long, especially when Derek bent down to kiss him and started moaning into his mouth. Stiles grabbed the mess of hair and pulled Derek away from the kiss so Stiles could mouth at his ear, his neck, anything and everything he could reach. Derek rocked down on Stiles with an increased rhythm, cursing and moaning and grasping for his untouched cock.

When he started wildly stroking it, Stiles took control and held Derek’s hips in place so he could thrust into him. And that’s when Derek really lost it, because he fell forward, propping himself up with his free hand, and started shouting obscenities. His eyes were squeezed shut, brows furrowed and when he finally came, he clutched at Stiles’ chest and opened his eyes.

That was it. Stiles was gone.

He melted into Derek’s touch, who had squeezed out his orgasm but continued to rock down against Stiles. Derek’s eyes were on Stiles’ face when he leaned down and whispered, “I want to taste you when you come.”

He pushed off of Stiles and positioned his face between his legs.

Derek looked wild as he rolled the condom off and took Stiles into his mouth. Stiles grabbed his hair and moaned with every downward motion, with every lick of Derek’s tongue.

“Fuck,” he said as he felt it. He was so close. And then Derek brushed a finger against his entrance, and dipped his head all the way down, watching Stiles’ face and humming softly. Stiles came then, eyes locked with Derek’s until a flash made him squeeze them shut. Derek finished pumping the orgasm out of Stiles, licking up every bit of cum as he went.

He wanted to say something, to make what just happened feel like less of a moment between them, but as Derek climbed up his body, and lay on his side, Stiles couldn’t stop himself from reaching out pulling the other man in for kiss. He tasted himself on Derek’s tongue, and moaned.

“That was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” Stiles said into Derek’s mouth.

He felt Derek smile before his weight shifted and he rolled to the side.

Stiles felt cold at the loss, and turned to his side and tangled his arm under Derek’s, pulling them close. He nudged at Derek’s jaw and kissed his neck.

“You,” Derek whispered, “have no idea how good you taste.” He gave Stiles lazy kisses and a few light sighs.

Stiles drifted off, but woke when Derek started drawing circles on his skin. He thought about Derek’s obsession with his back, and remembered Derek’s sculpted muscles, and the tattoo between his shoulder blades.

“Hey,” Stiles eyes fluttered open. “What’s that tattoo on your back?”

“It’s a triskelion,” Derek replied. He adjusted his head against the pillow and gazed back at Stiles, who had to blink under that kind of stare--because Derek’s eyes focused on him was terrifying and flooring. “It represents family, the stages of life, how everything is fluid and can change in an instant.” Derek leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Stiles’s lips. “It means one thing can lead to another, and then something else. That it’s all connected.”

“It’s pre-Celtic,” Stiles smiled into Derek’s lips. “I should’ve known that.” He sighed and realized his blissed out brain was forgetting his years of academic study.  “Sometimes it means sky, earth, and water. But I like your explanation.” He closed his eyes and felt his exhaustion take over. “It means something.”

“Yeah,” he heard Derek say, before he fell into unconsciousness.

They fell asleep like that, tangled and sweaty, and unable to move even if they’d wanted to. Stiles didn’t think about what it meant, or where it was going, though he realized in the real world they weren’t too far from each other geographically. He drifted off with the question of what this was to him, and to Derek.

But he got the answer when he woke up alone to his hotel phone ringing off the hook. That godforsaken noise wasn’t helping his headache. He flung his arm out and patted around the nightstand until he found the receiver.

“Yeah,” he croaked. His mouth tasted like a landfill.

“Stiles!”

He shot up and looked at the clock. 3:34. “Laura,” he said, and looked around for Derek. He wasn’t there. His clothes were gone too.

“I’m in Portland,” she explained. “My flight changed after that storm messed everything up  yesterday.”

Stiles sat up, which was a mistake, because his lower abdomen was already feeling the effects of all the crazy sex he’d had. “Ughhh,” he groaned.

“I know how you feel about Portland, but really, it’s just for an hour.”

“No,” Stiles half smiled. “I’m hungover. And...”

Laura’s laugh filtered through the phone and made Stiles feel a bit better about being left without a goodbye from Derek.

“You probably have some wild stories to tell me when I get there.”

“Oh, do I have a story to tell,” he grinned and stood up, carrying the phone across the room to the desk. He inspected himself in the mirror.

“Please tell me you didn’t completely obliterate the kidney I gave you?”

Stiles laughed. “No, but we might have to be a little more touchy feely than originally planned if we want to pass off these hickeys as coming from you.”

Laura coughed. “You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did,” Stiles smirked into the receiver. “Many times. In many different positions.”

“Stiles, I’d say something about how this is so completely inappropriate but I know you really needed to get laid.” Laura sighed, “And I guess it will help our story.”

“We’re going to be the most believable fake couple in the world, now that I’ve got the sex drug pumping through my veins. Who knows, you might even get lucky.”

“Ew, Stiles. You haven’t even tickled me that way since halloween nine years ago when you were dressed like Little Red Riding Hood,” Laura chuckled. “I’ll be lucky if I can get through this week without maiming anyone in my family.”

He couldn’t imagine all the different things Laura was feeling. “You know, anything you need,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

“You’re doing so much already,” she replied. “We’re going to look like the most white picket fence couple ever.”

“Just don’t let on how much of a Trekkie you are to the board.”

“Shut up.”

Laura informed him that she would have to rent a car since her brother took her old one. She promised to pick Stiles up around six so they could head over the Hale house for dinner.

When he hung the phone, Stiles felt a renewed sense of purpose. Derek was the thing he’d have for himself on this trip. Now it was all about Laura.

While he took a shower, he came up with pet names for Laura, stories for how they fell in love, and reasons for why he loved her. It wasn’t so hard, after all, since he’d been through so much with her. Their trip to Florida became a couples getaway instead of a “We Haven’t Been to Disney World in a While” trip. Rock climbing in the deserts of New Mexico? Anniversary trip. He’d decided they would’ve been friends first no matter what, and that he slowly fell in love with the way she gave so much of herself to the world, and didn’t expect a single thing back in return.

By the time he’d ironed his shirt and dressed himself as decent as he’d ever be, Stiles mentally decided the proposal was made over a rose covered bear skin rug at his father’s hunting lodge. Because Laura deserved all the romance. Plus he’d seen it in a movie and could remember all the details with vivid clarity. It sounded corny and awful, and her family would eat it right up.

He started humming a song, picking up the room and tossing the bottles, lube, and condom wrappers in the garbage. That’s when his eyes fell on a piece of paper, the liquor store receipt, and the digits hastily written on the back accompanied by “Maybe call the next time you’re in New York”.

A knock sounded and Stiles shoved the paper in his dress pants pocket and rushed to the door.

Laura pushed past him and threw herself on the bed.

“Uh, housekeeping didn’t change the sheets, FYI,” Stiles informed her.

She shot up and scooted the edge of the mattress, where Stiles sat next to her.

“I can’t believe we’re here,” she whispered. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “My dad is gone,” she sighed. “And I knew it was coming, but it’s like--it’s like everything has just gone to shit. Why is Peter doing this?”

“Shh,” Stiles wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. “We’ll figure it out. You and me? We got this.” He tilted her head up so he could look her in the eyes. “The next two days are about you and your family celebrating your father’s life. You already said goodbye, there’s no need to be sad. You think about him and all the awesome things you shared. Okay?”

Laura nodded and hugged Stiles tighter.

“Ugh,” she frowned and stood up. “This bed reeks of sex. Let’s go.”

 

As she drove them around downtown Beacon Hills, which in the daytime looked just as small town as it had in the dark, Laura pointed out childhood hangouts and gossiped about people they’d be seeing at some point that week. Almost every adult member of her family would be voting at the board meeting, and Laura wanted to make sure Stiles knew who they were.

“That’s where my parents met,” she pointed to the old style movie theater. They passed a park, and then the high school, and then a vet’s office. “Oh,” she cooed. “That’s where D.J. got his first job. Dr. Deaton is an old friend of the family and as a favor, he hired him. He had to quit after two days because he was so allergic to the cats!” Laura started laughing hysterically. “His face, all puffed up. Oh my god, Stiles,” she breathed. “I can’t wait for you to meet him. You’ll love his deadpan expressions.”

“I think I already met him,” Stiles replied as he gazed out at the trees. They’d entered the preserve and were following the winding road slowly. “He was at the hospital when we got out of surgery.”

Laura furrowed her brows like she had to think about it. “No,” she mused. “I think you met my cousin Casey. D.J. was off doing some art thing in Europe back then.”

Stiles mouthed an O and then turned back to look out the window. The winter scene was bleak, but there was something about the woods that drew his attention. They held some regal quality, and he shook himself because honestly, what was he doing thinking about trees.

“So tell me about your hook up,” Laura smiled. They turned down a one lane road and she let up on the gas.

“Nothing much to tell,” Stiles muttered, then picked up his tone, smiling. “Except it was awesome.”

“Spill.”

He laughed and started emphatically gesturing with his hands. “Well, he was pretty much my type personified in god-like form. Muscles, loaded stare, sparse dialog.”

“And the sex?”

Stiles rolled his eyes back into his head. “Kind of mind blowing.” He sat back into his chair and stared ahead. “Maybe even the best sex I’ve ever had. I don’t know, there was definitely something going on between us the fifth time we did it.”

“Five times?” Laura cried. She hit the brakes and turned to Stiles, frowning with wide eyes. “You went on a sex bender before my father’s funeral?”

They stared at each other for a moment until Stiles looked away. Laura let out a howl of laughter. “Oh my god,” she breathed. “You’re insane. Stiles, what am I going to do with you?”

He licked his lips and shook his head. “Marry me?”

Laura put the car in drive and kept laughing in periodic bursts. “Did you at least get his number?”

Stiles nodded and remembered the receipt he’d shoved in his pocket. He took it out.

“Oh my god, Stiles, you have to text him.”

Stiles sighed, “He left without saying goodbye.”

“So text him anyway!” Laura was concentrating on the narrow road and the sharp turns.

He created a new message and typed in the number. But what to say? He didn’t want to sound too interested.

I can’t stop thinking about last night.

“There? Sent it. Now I can’t wait for him to never reply and get on with my life.”

“I just hope it wasn’t someone I went to highschool with,” she said as they pulled up a driveway.

Stiles was about to reply with some corny one-liner, but his mouth dropped when he saw the house in front of them. “That’s a fucking manor,” his mouth gaped.

“That’s my house, and you’ll only say nice things about it.”

“How many people live here?”

Laura put the car in park. “It varies,” she said as she unbuckled her seatbelt. “Right now, it’s probably a full house. So...twenty? Twenty-five people?”

“Holy shit,” Stiles muttered. Then he saw the eye roll Laura gave him and scoffed. “You’re kidding, oh you! Laura, this is not the time to tell tall tales.”

“We’re in one,” she laughed.

They got out of the car and Stiles noticed the drop in temperature from the city, and zipped up his jacket. When he looked up, a petite brunette was running out the front door screaming Laura’s name. She looked like a twenty-something version of Laura.

“Cora!” Laura embraced her sister.

“You look amazing,” Cora pulled away.

Laura smiled, “Cora,” she turned to Stiles. “This is Stiles. My fiance.”

Before he had time to say anything, the shorter woman had wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. “Stiles,” she said. “Finally.”

“I’ve heard so much about you,” he managed to say as she stepped back.

“Me too,” she smiled. “I never thought you two would get together. I mean, I thought you were together, but then Laura made it seem like you were--”

“Where’s D.J.? I’d like to have a word with him about taking the Camaro.”

Cora wrinkled her nose and replied, “Ugh, Laura, honestly? No one’s called him that since he was twelve years old. Grow up.” They walked into the foyer and Stiles stopped in awe at the beautiful staircase and lit hallway lined with art and family pictures.

“I’ll call him whatever I want, the little shit...always taking my stuff.” She turned to Stiles, “I’ll always blame him for me failing art class and never pursuing my life as a beatnik because he stole my set of premium drawing pencils.”

Stiles laughed, “That’s totally the reason you’re not a beatnik.”

“Laura, is that you?” a female voice carried from a room in the back of the house.

Laura’s eyes bulged and she squealed, “Mom!”

  
  


They were sitting around the island in the kitchen sipping wine and watching Talia Hale finish cooking. She’d embraced Stiles warmly and even winked when her eyes dropped to the marks on his neck. He’d flushed and grabbed Laura’s hand for dear life when Talia said, “Quite a reunion, by the looks of things.”

Talia had a frisky way about her, with deep green, calculating eyes that made Stiles feel on trial. But at the same time, she laughed at his jokes and told Laura his brown eyes were adorable, so he had that going for him. There was no sadness in her eyes, no hint that she was suffering from the loss of her husband. And he couldn’t tell if it was the best mask he’d ever seen, or if she’d somehow coped with it.

He knew Laura was having trouble putting up the wall. Her face would smile and laugh, but a few times he caught her looking at the end of the island, like she thought for a moment someone would be standing there.

“Hey,” he whispered, and grabbed her shoulder. “You alright, Toadstool?”

Laura smiled, probably realizing Stiles was referencing when they met. She had been with a Super Mario cosplay group, and he had been really into Mario. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m good.”

Talia had stopped tossing the salad and seen the whole thing. “Why don’t you two set the table? We’re eating in the formal dining room.”

“You have more than one dining room?” Stiles balked. Laura grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled him out of the room.

They set the table, or rather, Stiles helped put things in their general area and Laura came behind him and put them in the right spot. Eight places, and Stiles inquired exactly who would be join them.

“Me, Mom, D.J., and Cora,” she explained. “And my mom’s sister, Cathy, and, well you know Casey.”

“That’s six plus me,” Stiles asked, confused.

Laura looked down and replied, “We set a place for my dad.”

Cora shuffled in holding a tray of garlic bread, the blond Casey not far behind her carrying the salad bowl. They sat down and Stiles wished he was sitting next to Laura instead of across from her. Casey and Cora sat on either side of him.

Casey started talking to Stiles about baseball, probably because it was the only thing memorable about their encounter years before. Cora wanted to talk about the latest vampire movie she’d seen, and Laura didn’t seem to mind pretending to care.

Talia walked in with a wine decanter, and looked out the window with concern.

“Your brother’s just come in from his run and said it’s about to rain,” she began. “Could one of you go collect the flowers I cut earlier? I left them tied together in the garden.”

Wanting to make a good impression, Stiles volunteered and said, “Point me in the right direction.” Laura’s mom instructed him to set them in the mudroom sink, and that she’d take care of them later.

He put on his jacket and went out the back door, impressed with the landscaping before him. Sure, the house was a brick castle, but the yard was a beautiful mix of flowers and fruit trees, with a bench area and a fire pit toward the treeline. He saw the fenced in area and jogged over to it. There were rows he assumed were for vegetables in the spring and summer, but to the edge of the fence sprang up tall, purple flowers. It was weird seeing something so full life in the middle of winter. Then his eyes fell to some that were cut and tied off to the side, and he unlatched the gate to grab them.

It began to drizzle as he rushed back to the house, and after Stiles set the flowers in the sink, he shucked out of his jacket and hung it up to dry. That’s when he got a text back from Derek.

Looking for an encore?

Stiles’ breath hitched. What he would do to get that man back in his bed for a night of--anything. He’d take the sex, because it was mind blowing, but he’d also take a Star Wars marathon and some pizza if it meant he could feel that connected to someone again.

He answered, Not tonight. Maybe when we’re both back on the other coast?

He walked to the bathroom off the kitchen to wash his hands, and started a mini pep talk in the mirror to remind himself why he was there.

“You can do this,” he murmured. “Be a man. Be a fiance. Be the best friend you know you already are.” He huffed out his chest and rinsed off the soap. “Be all that you can be,” he chimed. He walked over to the towel rack by the window to dry his hands, but stopped when something outside caught his eye.

Parked in the driveway on the side of the house was a shiny black sports car.

Stiles’ mind started racing.

“Nope,” he said matter of factly. That’s Laura’s Camaro. Plenty of people drive black sports cars, he told himself. That one didn’t even look like the car he’d been in the night before. Or did it? He pushed his forehead to the glass and bit his lip. The hell if he knew! He’d been drunk when he rode in that car.

He rushed out of the bathroom only to find himself pacing in the kitchen. He was freaking out, and he didn’t know why. He had no reason to freak out. This was completely irrational. Why would Derek be at the Hale house? It was completely ridiculous.

“Stiles,” Laura grabbed his hand.

His frantic eyes settled on hers and he took a deep breath.

“What’s up? I thought you got lost or something,” she chuckled. “Come on, everyone’s at the table.”

Everyone, he thought. His heart was in his throat, pounding so hard he could feel it in toes. When they were just a few feet from the open archway to the dining room, Stiles stopped dead in his tracks.

He hadn’t seen it before? But how had he not noticed it? The iron work, the curves, the shining spirals that formed a triskelion mounted above the doorway to the dining room.

Stiles heard Casey ask, “Where’d Laura go?”

To which Cora laughed, “To find Stiles.”

“What the hell is a Stiles?”

And that was it. All his worst rational and irrational fears. That voice. He knew that voice. He knew it when it whispered, when it laughed, when it moaned and asked politely for more.

Laura turned, waving him to come with her.

“No, there’s something I need--”

“Come on,” she tugged his arm, and he lost control of his body. He went with her through the doorway and in a series of blinks, he took in the new faces at the table. First, he saw a lighter haired version of Talia, Aunt Cathy, he guessed, taking a sip of wine and smiling back at him. But then, two seats to her right, he saw the scowl of a face he knew too well.

“Derek,” Talia smiled, “Cathy. This is Stiles, in the flesh at last. Laura’s fiance that we’ve heard so much about.”

Stiles tried, he did. He tried to give a small smile, at least to Cathy, but Laura had walked away from him and taken her seat between her aunt and brother-- and shit. Everyone was staring at him expectantly, everyone except Derek, who, if looks could kill, would have Stiles dead on the floor full of lots and lots of projectile weapons.

He shook himself and went to sit between Casey and Cora.

“Nice to meet you both,” Stiles managed to grit out. He clutched the armrests and stared down at his plate, trying as hard as he could to not throw up. Laura was looking at him funny, but then Cathy passed her the garlic bread and she dropped her gaze. Stiles watched her grab one, and nudge the tray at Derek, who was still giving him a menacing stare.

“Derek,” Laura pushed. “Garlic bread?”

He dropped his eyes from Stiles and looked at his plate. “No.”

“So Stiles,” Talia began. From the head of the table she addressed him with a smile. He welcomed the opportunity to turn his head away from the eventual catastrophe that was the pair of them--his fake fiance sitting next to his one night stand. “Laura tells me you two won’t be making any wedding plans until you’ve both moved back here and settled in.”

“Mom. I told you it’s complicated,” Laura cautioned as she scooped some mashed potatoes onto her plate. Derek stared at her with a clenched jaw.

“I don’t see why it has to be,” Talia smiled. “Have the wedding here. In fact, you two have been together for so long, you should just do it this weekend, while all the family is in town.”

Stiles and Laura’s eyes locked, to which Stiles quickly said, “I think that would be in bad taste, with everything that’s going on.”

“Besides,” Laura added, “None of our friends are here. Stiles’ family?”

“Mom just wants grandkids,” Cora leered, throwing Talia a mocking smile. “Laura’s almost menopausal and Derek’s,” she turned to her brother, “never going to settle down with anyone, man or woman. And I’m too wrapped up in my dissertation to let someone knock me up.”

Laura sent her a devious smile and dished up a pile of green beans. Stiles continued to stare at his plate because he couldn’t meet Derek’s eyes. He knew what Derek what thinking, what this looked like. And there was no way for him to tell Derek otherwise. Stiles would have to tell Laura first, obviously, and she could decide a way to tell Derek. Or not tell Derek. Stiles couldn’t think, and then all the sudden he heard Laura clear her throat.

“You,” she said. Stiles saw her staring at her brother. And when their eyes met, Derek almost looked terrified with what would come next. He glanced at Stiles who gulped and looked away. “Stop taking my stuff,” she barked.

Derek’s eyes went wide.

“That car is mine. I still pay the insurance, I put new tires on it last Christmas, and I paid for it with all my savings and three summer jobs.” She sighed. “I should get to drive it around whenever I want. I’ll have you know I had to rent a car. And it’s not my fault,” she turned back to the table and forked some salad onto her plate. “That you wrecked your car a billion years ago, went off to frolic in Europe, and never bought a new car since.”

Derek looked relieved and scared at the same time.

“Cora, dear,” Talia said. “Dish up some meat on Stiles’ plate.” The matriarch looked at him and pointed, “You’re too thin. Eat something. You worked up an appetite, today, didn’t you?”

Stiles gulped and watched the young brunette place three slices of meat on his plate.

“So Stiles,” Cora grabbed his arm and handed him the green bean casserole. “When will you be moving here?”

He smiled and lied, “Not until the end of the semester.”

“Oh?” Cora raised an eyebrow. “What classes are you taking?”

“Stiles is a professor,” Talia corrected. “Literature, right?”

“Folklore Studies,” Stiles smiled. Still getting mistaken for a student, and he was almost thirty. “And yeah, I guess I have to wait and see what happens. I was on track for tenure.” Laura kicked him under the table, and he added, “But what’s job security when you can be closer to the one you love?”

Derek stood up and threw his napkin on the table. “I need to be excused,” he said. He looked right at Stiles and added, “I feel sick.”

He stormed out without another word and Stiles tried to meet Laura’s eyes. She was busy shoveling a piece of roast in her mouth and listening to Cathy explain radical yoga.

“I don’t understand,” Talia chimed in. “What makes it so ‘radical’?”

Such went the conversation as Stiles sat there, heart pounding and mind racing. He pushed his food around with his fork, and decided it would be okay. Laura would explain everything to Derek, who would understand the situation and stop killing him with his eyes. They could laugh it off, maybe even be friends. Laura always said they would get along.

Stiles guessed she didn’t exactly mean screw each other senseless until the sun rose.

Someone saying his name brought him back from his thoughts.

“No, that’s unacceptable,” Talia frowned. “Stiles, you’ll stay here. We have plenty of room for you.”

Laura sent him a half smile. He tried to hold her attention long enough to signal for an emergency fake fiance conference, but her attention was stolen by a man sauntering into the room.

“Family dinner and no one thought to invite me?” the man smirked. He seemed familiar but gave Stiles the creeps. Had to be Uncle Peter.

“We just threw this together at the last minute,” Talia replied. Her face had turned fierce as she sent Peter a scowl not unlike one of Derek’s.

Peter walked to the table and sat in the empty seat at the other end, the one Stiles and Laura had set in memory of her father.

“Oh my,” Peter smiled as he gazed at the food spread before him. “Talia, your mashed potatoes are my favorite. The magic you make in that kitchen.” He closed his eyes and made a face Stiles could have gone his entire life without having witnessed. “Casey, pass me the potatoes.”

Stiles watched the turmoil on Casey’s face as he looked to Laura and his mother for help. Stiles grabbed his glass of wine and downed it. Maybe he had overestimated how prepared he was for this situation. It didn’t help that he’d slept with his fake fiancee’s brother, but right now that seemed like an afterthought to the creepy, sellout uncle problem.

“Stiles,” Talia said softly.

“Mmm,” he turned. The woman was terrifying. She wouldn’t take her eyes off of Peter, who had piled his plate with large portions of everything.

“Be a dear and go down to the wine cellar and get a few more bottles.”

“Oh yes,” Peter looked directly at Stiles. “I’d love a Franciscan red. Maybe the 2004?” He smiled and it made Stiles even more sick to his stomach. “That was a good year.” 

Giving Laura his best “I’m trying not to freak out” face, Stiles got up and headed out into the kitchen. He’d seen Talia go down into the cellar earlier, and followed the path she had taken.

There were pantry shelves, a freezer, and a handful of cardboard boxes, but mostly Stiles was taken in by the rows of wine shelves. How was he supposed to find a single bottle among all of these? The lighting wasn’t that great, but he could read the labels if he squinted. It was a few minutes before he even saw a wine label he recognized and grabbed it, knowing it wouldn’t be too expensive of a bottle. Was he supposed to find that bottle for Peter? Or did Talia just want him to leave the room so they could have some quality family hate time?

Stiles bent down to get a look at the bottom shelf wines, and wow, there was no rhyme or reason to the order of them. He found a Franciscan, not a 2004, but Peter could live with the disappointment. Standing up, he held the bottles the his chest and turned to leave.

“Holy shit!” he jumped. Derek was standing at the end of the shelf staring at him from the shadows.

“What are you doing,” Derek said.

Stiles let out a breath and blinked, “Not sneaking up on people in dark, unfamiliar places, for one.”

Derek took a step forward and for a moment Stiles thought he might kill him. “What are you doing pretending to be in love with my sister? Cheating on her with a complete stranger.” Derek shoved a finger into Stiles’ shoulder.

“Ow,” Stiles looked down at the contact.

“You have a lot of nerve, Stiles. Coming to this town to be there for Laura for her father’s funeral, and then sleeping with some random guy.”

Stiles clutched the wine bottles under his arms and retaliated, “It takes two to tango, Derek. How the hell did you not know who I was?”

“You never said your real name,” Derek frowned. He turned away and crossed his arms.

“Yeah,” Stiles scoffed. “But there’s pictures of me all over Laura’s apartment, on her facebook. I’ve been in her life for ten years. She gave me a fucking kidney, Derek! Where were you when that was happening? Off getting naked in the streets of Europe?” Stiles licked his lips, “Maybe if you were a better brother--”

Derek turned and pushed into Stiles’ face. “I’m not the one engaged! You’re a piece of shit, you know that?” He pressed Stiles back, shuffling their feet together until Stiles hit the wall. “She’s given you her life, Stiles. Her heart. She gave you a fucking kidney and you’re getting drunk like you don’t even care. And you’re fucking random strangers like none of it matters?”

“Of course it matters,” Stiles said. He didn’t know what he should or shouldn’t say. He needed to make sure Laura was on board with telling Derek the truth, though now, Stiles was convinced they needed to come clean with Derek or he’d kill him. “This has nothing to do with Laura. I love Laura. This is a--”

Derek’s hands grabbed Stiles’ collar. “You have a messed up way of showing it.”

“You should talk to Laura about this,” Stiles tried to say calmly, but his heart rate was increasing the closer Derek leaned. The other man’s eyes had fallen to Stiles’ neck, like he was just now seeing the marks he’d left behind.

“I’m not going to say anything,” Derek whispered. “This family is barely holding it together as it is. Laura has too much on her plate right now.” Stiles started laughing. He couldn’t help it. His first thought was of Laura, a few minutes earlier, shovelling all that food in her mouth. Derek shook him. “You think this is funny?”

“It is kind of hilarious,” Stiles chuckled. “You end up being the guy I slept with. What are the chances?”

“Shut up,” Derek spat and released his hold on Stiles’ shirt. He took a step back and looked at the space between them. “You make me sick.”

Stiles felt a pinch of regret, because this was not how the conversation should have gone. “Derek,” he sighed. He looked into the other man’s eyes earnestly. “This is not what you think.”

“Then what is it, Stiles? Because I think it’s a lying sack of shit trying to--”

“Woah there,” Stiles interrupted. He wasn’t going to take another minute of this. He needed Laura. “I’m gonna get this wine back up there.” He brushed by Derek and rushed up the stairs.

When he got back to the dining room, everyone was eating in silence.

Stiles set the wine on the table and tried to form a smile. “Laura,” he chimed. “Can I, uh, speak with you in private for just a second?”

With wide eyes, she nodded slowly and stood up. They walked into the kitchen, where he pulled her close and grabbed her shoulders.

“You need to tell Derek the truth,” he whispered.

“What?” Concern wrinkled its way onto Laura’s face.

Stiles licked his lips and continued, “I--” But he couldn’t bring himself to say “fucked your brother repeatedly” so instead he pointed to the hickeys on his neck. “These. These are from Derek.”

Understanding flooded across her face, and with wide eyes, Laura shoved her hand in front of Stiles’ mouth. She pulled him across the kitchen, through the mud room, and out into backyard, where it was raining.

“Don’t,” she whispered and led him down a path to the benches by the treeline. “Don’t say another word.”

Stiles pulled her arms down and huffed, “But you have to tell him, before he rips my throat out and watches the life drain out of me slowly.”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I can’t. Not while Peter is in the house.”

“Derek thinks I’m a cheating piece of scum.”

Laura looked panicked. “He’s not going to say anything to anyone, is he?”

“No,” Stiles affirmed. “No. He said he wouldn’t.”

“When? When did he say that?”

Stiles shook his head, “When he scared the shit out of me and confronted me in the wine cellar!”

“Okay,” Laura said. “Okay. This is fine. This is nothing, not a big deal at all. Derek isn’t even a board member that needs convincing. We’ll tell him the truth and all will be well.” She looked at Stiles. “Oh my god.”

“What?” Stiles asked. “What’s wrong?”

Laura squeezed her eyes shut. “You had sex with my brother.” She made a gag noise. “And you told me all about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My real OTP is Derek/Shadows.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sorry,” he cringed. “Guys, this bathroom really isn’t big enough for three grown people.”
> 
> Laura gargled some water and spit it out. “Much like this relationship,” she squinted, eyeing Derek in the mirror before hightailing it out of the room and into the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew. So this took forever to write. I apologize for that. I also apologize for the feels that will hit you about halfway through this chapter. I honestly...do not know where they came from. This was supposed to be porn. 
> 
> As always, thank you to thecruixe for being the best beta and cheerleader ever. I FINALLY FINISHED. *pops champagne* 
> 
> Enjoy :D
> 
> oh, and if you want to keep up with any of my other fic writing, check out my [tumblr](http://spookywoods.tumblr.com)

Laura convinced Stiles the only way she could tell Derek was outside of the house and away from the rest of the family. This worried Stiles, because he started to think Derek would have a bad reaction either way. The plan then became, in Stiles’ opinion, delusional, because he was supposed to convince Derek to come with them back to the hotel, where Stiles would pick up his things and subsequently plant himself in the middle of this insane non-love triangle.

They went back to the house and shook themselves off in the mudroom. Stiles found his way out of his soaked suit jacket and handed it to Laura, who was gathering their wet clothes to take to the laundry room. When he followed Laura into the kitchen, Derek, Peter, and Talia were huddled around the island. Derek’s eyes found Stiles, sweeping up and down his body, which sent a shiver across Stiles’ spine and a jolt of something else somewhere else. And No, thank you. Derek scowled and looked at Laura.

“Lover’s tryst?” Peter chimed. He had managed to establish a bonafide twinkle in his eye no matter where he was positioned in a room, and Stiles mildly thought the man got off on being sassy. Talia turned and glared at her brother.

Laura smiled, “We were just discussing something in private.”

“In the pouring rain?” Peter’s eyebrow arched. “You know, Laura. One might think you had something to hide.” Her uncle tilted his head and looked at Stiles, who shifted uncomfortably under the older man’s gaze.

“We’re just gonna get dried off and then head to the hotel,” Stiles said. He immediately regretted saying anything when all four pairs of Hale eyes were suddenly on him.

“Derek,” Talia turned to her son. “You should give Stiles some clothes to wear. He’ll get sick if he stays in those.”

Derek’s shoulders tensed.

“Yeah, bro,” Laura smiled wickedly. “Why don’t you go get Stiles out of those clothes?” Stiles practically choked at that, and turned around to glare at his faux-fiancee.  

“No, I’m fine,” Stiles protested. “Really,” he deepened the glare directed at Laura. “We’re going to get my stuff from the hotel and then I’ll be right as rain.”

Talia laughed and Stiles’ heart sank. “Nonsense, Stiles. You and Derek go find some clothes.” Stiles turned around and frowned at the look of horror plastered across Derek’s face. “Laura,” Talia turned, “Come sit and have a glass of wine with your uncle and me.”

The shuffling around him happened so fast, Stiles just dropped his mouth open and let his feet move. He lifted his brows in a pleading glance at Laura, who blatantly ignored him and took a seat next to her mother at the island.

“Come on, Stiles,” Derek huffed and grabbed his arm. “Let’s get you out of those wet clothes.”

Being led through the house, up the stairs, and down a long hallway, in reality only took about a minute. But Stiles felt every muscle movement in Derek’s upper body, every spasm as the other man’s grip tightened around his forearm...and if the long sigh he let out when they stopped in front of the doorway to a bedroom was any indication, Stiles had been holding his breath the entire time.

It wasn’t so bad. Derek wasn’t going to kill him. Relief flooded over him and he followed Derek inside the dark room.

But putting down his defenses had been a mistake. Derek slammed the door closed and pushed Stiles up against it, grazing his chin against the side of Stiles’ face.

“You told her?” he asked, the anger from the wine cellar was back in an unmistakable force.

Stiles grabbed at Derek’s arms, his sides, anything to break the connection of their two bodies. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure she knew, Derek. You marked me up like a canvas last night.”

Derek turned, his nose accidentally skimming the bruised skin on Stiles’ neck. He let Stiles go with a rattling shake and stepped back. “Be careful what you say in this house,” Derek whispered and flicked on the light.

And Stiles gawked, because Derek’s room was immaculate, and reminded him of some eighteenth century ship braving a terrible storm in the darkest of night. A towering bookshelf across the room, in some dark wood, held dozens of battered paperbacks, trinkets, and art supplies. The desk in the corner was littered in papers, charcoals, and pencil shavings. Stiles didn’t let himself look at the sleigh bed, but knew beneath the fluffy navy duvet lay a soft paradise that would smell of moss and sage--like Derek.

So Stiles turned to the safest bet to steer himself from that train of thought. The rich navy walls housed abstract paintings, dark and mystical, the kind of thing you had to turn your head and think on and gather your feelings. Stiles took a step closer to one and marveled at the thick brush strokes of black and grey, and then eyed the corner.

DJH.

“Derek James Hale,” Stiles whispered. He suddenly became acutely aware of the silence and turned to see what Derek was doing.

He’d bent down and started searching in the bottom of his dresser. Stiles watched the line of his shoulders move as he rummaged through the drawer and licked his lips.

“Here,” Derek held up a crumpled v-neck and a pair of jeans. He threw them at Stiles, who took a step back and glared, so Derek stood and stared back.

“What?” Stiles asked. “Thanks, I guess.” He set the clothes on Derek’s bed and turned half facing away from him, ready to pull his sopping wet shirt over his head. When he realized Derek hadn’t moved for the door, Stiles widened his eyes and scoffed. “I’m going to change now.”

Derek stood across the room, his hands at his sides, unmoved.

“Why aren’t you leaving the room?” Stiles asked. He knew the man had seen him oh-ho-ho-so much more than naked, but the sort of hateful sparks that had been flying between them had negated any desire (okay and so maybe he was lying to himself) to be sans clothes in the other man’s presence.

Derek raised his brows. “My mom told me,” he said, and sauntered over to Stiles, “to get you out of these clothes.” He grabbed the bottom of Stiles’ dress shirt and ripped it up and over his head, leaving the clingy, white undershirt.

Stiles gulped. Derek’s hands rested on his hips, slowly curling up to latch the fabric of the shirt. His breath staggered as he stared at the expressionless face so close to his own. And then he felt Derek’s hands on his skin, and closed his eyes.

“Hnng,” a soft whine escaped Stiles’ throat. Derek’s hands moved up Stiles’ torso, pushing the shirt up with them.

“Arms,” Derek said as his hands left skin and pulled the fabric over Stiles’ head.

“Um,” Stiles said, “Do you have a towel or something?” His eyelids had fallen heavy.

Derek nodded and a few seconds later, a soft towel was wiping the excess water off his chest. A hand grabbed Stiles’ shoulder and he watched as Derek’s eyes darted from Stiles’ lips to the marks on his neck. Stiles didn’t understand what was happening, as certain feelings began surfacing with every heated touch. He felt like he should be scared, but he was more turned on by the fear and the touching. It was a terrified arousal, and it spiked the moment Derek’s hands fell to his waist.

Derek let his fingers linger there and his green eyes widened when they met Stiles’. He backed away, expressionless.

“I think you can handle it from here,” Stiles heard Derek murmur as he bolted out of the room.

Stiles coughed and exhaled. “Yeah,” he said and looked down at his the slight bulge in his pants. “I can handle this.”

  
  


 

When Stiles made it back downstairs, Derek was nowhere to be seen. He’d taken the liberty of borrowing a pair of slip on vans from his closet, and felt like a stranger in his own skin. Derek’s clothes seemed to be the right size, but were loose in all the areas Derek was bulky. The shirt clung to Stiles’ shoulders, but didn’t quite hug the rest of him the way it would Derek. The pants were too big in the waist, but fit his hips enough to keep them on.

“Stiles,” Laura said as she walked out of the kitchen. She stopped and smiled. “You’re taking me back a few years here and it’s freaking me out.”

He laughed, “I feel like one of my students in this.”

“Derek’s outside waiting in the car,” Laura nodded and turned to walk back into the kitchen.

“What?”

She stopped. “Go ahead with Derek to the hotel to get your stuff.”

“Nope,” Stiles shook his head.

“Stiles.” Laura widened her eyes and twisted her head.

“I need you to understand something, Laura,” Stiles began, and then he saw the pleading look on her face. Something must have been going on that he didn’t know, something that called for her to be with her mother and uncle alone. “I’ll miss you, dear,” Stiles mumbled as he walked out of the front door and stalked towards the Camaro.  

Falling into the seat, he kept his eyes glued to the windshield, and tried to think of anything other than what had just occurred in Derek’s bedroom, or what had transpired in his own hotel room--where they were now going--or even what he’d been doing in that very seat the night before.

“Fuck my life,” Stiles said.

Derek’s jaw clenched, and he put the car in drive.

Complete silence with no music or radio. That was the drive to the hotel. Stiles threw up his hands when Derek offered to help him with his bags.

“No,” Stiles huffed. “Absolutely not. Stay here and scowl.”

“What,” Derek said.

But Stiles jerked the door open and rushed into the hotel. He finished things up at the front desk before heading up to his room.

He’d just thrown his toothbrush on top of a suitcase, when Derek’s form startled him.

“What’s the deal with you and Laura?”

“What is your deal,” Stiles breathed. “With sneaking up on me?”

“Answer the question, Stiles.” Derek put his hands in his pockets and added, “I don’t want to walk back into that house without knowing why my sister is suddenly okay with me sleeping with her fiance.”

Stiles began zipping up his suitcase. “You know, I always had this feeling she was trying to hook me up with her brother, D.J.” He stopped and bent his head. “Laura would always say ‘You’ll love this’ or ‘If only you had been there’ when she was talking about you. And I always resented it, you know, the implication that just because we both liked dudes…” Stiles started laughing. “But then, I know now that it wasn’t her who thought about us together that way. It was kind of this idea I built up in my head, and now here you are, here we are.”

Derek stared at Stiles with his lips parted. “So you are gay. And Laura knows?”

“She’s always known,” Stiles laughed and turned to face the other man. “This,” he motioned back and forth between them, “Having some fun with a stranger before I had to go pretend to be her fiance...she cheered me on. Granted, I don’t think she ever dreamed it would have been you…”

“Wait,” Derek stepped closer. “Pretending to be her fiance?”

Stiles nodded, “To screw up Peter’s plans. Get the board on her side. Laura wants to make herself look like the stand up choice for chairwoman.”

“By having her best friend pose as her fiance after sleeping with her brother?” Derek chuckled, clearly now amused instead of angry. This was a good sign for Stiles. “That will go over so well.”

“It will if no one finds out about it,” Stiles frowned.

Derek took another step forward and closed the gap between them. “This means that you’re really not a douchebag,” he whispered and bit his lip. “But you’re kind of an idiot for sleeping with a man in a town full of people you’re trying to convince you’re straight and engaged.”

“I’m an idiot?” Stiles sneered. “You’re the one who--”

But his words were cut off by Derek’s mouth in an urgent and unexpected kiss. His hands found their way to Stiles’ neck, where he held them together until he broke the contact himself.

“That’s the goodbye kiss I wish I’d given you this morning,” Derek sighed. Stiles saw an odd mixture of a smile and sad eyes on the other man’s face. “Come on,” Derek said. “Let’s get your bags in the car and get back to the house.”

  
  
  
  


In the car, Stiles wanted so badly to ask about the kiss, but he had a feeling it meant Derek was resolved to the situation. The kiss meant “Goodbye, I don’t hate you for cheating on my sister. We’re cool”. End of story.

They got back to the house and Stiles followed Derek inside and up the stairs. Out of memory, Stiles stopped with his suitcase in front of Derek’s door, but realized he would be sharing a bed with Laura.

“Her room is two doors down,” Derek said in Stiles ear before heading into his own room and closing the door without another glance.

He let himself into Laura’s room and smiled at the decor. Red. Everything was red. No surprise there. Stiles unpacked a few more things, hung up his suit for the funeral, and changed into his pajama bottoms. He kept Derek’s shirt on and didn’t ask himself why.

Wondering where Laura was, Stiles headed back downstairs in search of her. He needed to commiserate with someone. Or distract himself. Or get yelled at some more.

“Peter says that he has a plan and that we should trust him,” he heard Talia say. “But do you know how many people are going to get caught in the crossfire of this?”

Laura sighed, “Just trust me. Whatever I have to do, I will do it. And no one is going to get hurt.”

Stiles poked his head into the kitchen and his mouth dropped. Laura and Talia sat alone at the island, half a dozen empty bottles of wine surrounding them.

“Stiles!” Laura smiled. “We were wondering what was taking you two so long.” Her smile widened.

“I was just getting ready for bed,” Stiles explained. “Are you coming up anytime soon?”

“Mom and I have some more things to talk about. Arrangements and...things,” she replied. “Go ahead without me.”

“Alright,” he said and threw up an awkward wave, “Goodnight Mrs.--Talia.”

Talia beamed. “Night, Stiles. It’s so good to have you here.”

After burying himself under the covers, Stiles tossed and turned with thoughts of Derek, and then Laura. He wondered what was going through Derek’s mind, how he felt about his father’s death, and if the whole hook up had been some way of him distancing himself from the grief. Stiles was acutely aware of Laura’s denial tactics, and he started to suspect Derek might be even more predisposed to hiding his feelings away. But Stiles finally drifted off to sleep with the happier thought that Derek didn’t seem to hide his feelings where Stiles was concerned. If the kiss meant anything other than goodbye, he nodded off thinking.

That morning Stiles woke up freezing. Laura was curled up on the other side of the bed, and like a fireball, her warmth radiated.

“Morning lover,” he laughed and snuggled closer. They had shared a bed countless times in college and on vacations, but it entertained him that on this particular occasion they shared it as lovers.

Laura slapped her arm in his face and whined. “Go away, Stiles,” she said. “You are the biggest bed hog.”

“Am I?” he smiled and threw off the comforter. “Oh no,” Stiles shivered and pulled the duvet back over his body. “Why on earth is it so cold in here?”

“We Hales run a bit hot,” Laura replied. She rolled over and looked at Stiles, who winked back.

“Yeah you do.”

“Ew, come on. No more of that,” Laura said, her face scrunched up in disgust. They laughed and Laura asked him what he thought about everything so far.

“Well, your family is very entertaining,” he began. “Your mom seems pretty awesome. Strong, caring--” he stopped. “Kinda how I remember my mom.” He blinked and smiled. “Your uncle, on the other hand, reminds me of a serial killer I saw in a movie once. I really feel like I’m going to duck into another room any time I see him today, or maybe even out a window.”

“That would be a good plan,” Laura whispered. “Just make sure you open it first. I promised Scott you’d come back in once piece.”

They talked a bit more about the day’s events, and then, with a shivering Stiles, headed for the adjoining bathroom to brush their teeth before breakfast.

“The landscape here is beautiful, too,” Stiles started as he walked in, “Maybe we should go for a--” but he stopped when his eyes met Derek’s. And then fell to his shirtless torso and boxer briefs. “Fuck.”

Laura trailed him into the room and said, “What?” before catching sight of Derek, who was actually just brushing his teeth. His hair was mussed, there was a line on his face from where the sheet had left a mark, and he looked half asleep still.

“Oh my god,” Laura snorted and then turned to her side of the vanity. Stiles hadn’t realized it was a Jack and Jill bathroom. “Morning D.J.”

“Mrnning, Errra,” Derek replied.

Stiles stood between them, his eyes darting back and forth from his fake fiance and his one night stand in the mirror. Finally, when he started brushing his teeth, he noticed the deep frown on Derek’s face. He glanced at Laura, who had a giant smile plastered across hers.

“Okay,” Stiles said. He started forming a speech in his head and in the process flailed an arm out and accidentally hit Derek in the back. “Sorry,” he cringed. “Guys, this bathroom really isn’t big enough for three grown people.”

Laura gargled some water and spit it out. “Much like this relationship,” she squinted, eyeing Derek in the mirror before hightailing it out of the room and into the hallway. This left Stiles gaping with toothpaste falling out of his mouth and Derek clutching the sink with white knuckles.

“You’re still wearing my shirt,” Derek whispered. He was half hunched over the sink, staring at the faucet. He rinsed out his mouth.

“I am,” Stiles smiled and finished up with this toothbrush and a towel. “It’s very, uh, soft.”

Derek walked back into his bedroom and slammed the door.

Well, everyone would be up now, Stiles thought.

 

 

Stiles padded down the steps, turned the bannister, and ran into something.

“Stiles,” Peter smiled. And that was his cue to find breakfast. Whether it was in the kitchen or perhaps, you know, outside, or in another county. “Why on earth did your parents give you that name?”

He glared at the older man. “They didn’t,” was all he could manage. “Excuse me, I thought I heard Laura call for me.” He tried to make his way past Peter, but the man threw an arm out and hit Stiles’ chest.

“She didn’t,” he said. “You and Laura are very close,” Peter commented. “You’ve travelled everywhere together. She even gave you a life saving piece of herself. I’m just going to ask the blunt question, here, the one that has been on my mind ever since she announced your overdue engagement.” Stiles felt his heartbeat quicken and gulped.

“You know, I’m pretty sure whatever you’re going to ask is none of your business,” Stiles said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go help my best friend as she grieves the loss of her father. Maybe you should do the same.”

Stiles found Laura in the kitchen, hunched over a giant mug of coffee and staring at a bag of English muffins.

“Want me to fix you one?” he asked. She nodded, and he got to work. After opening the fridge and finding six different kinds of homemade jam, Stiles declared he was never leaving and was adopting the Hales as his own family.

“I’m not already your family?” Laura glared.

“No arguments today,” Talia said as she shuffled into the room, already fully dressed in a classic black suit. She looked fierce and soft all at the same time. Stiles beamed.

Laura kissed her mom on the cheek and made her a cup of coffee. “Oh, Mom. Deaton stopped by a few minutes ago to pick up the flowers for the funeral.”

Talia nodded and joined them in sitting around the island. “Good, good. Hopefully Isaac will get everything ready down at the cemetery then.”

“Isaac?” Laura’s eyes snapped open.

“Oh, come on, he’s--” Talia stopped. Her eyes narrowed on Stiles. “He’s part of this family, Laura.”

Laura sighed, “I have no problem with him. I just didn’t realize he still worked for his dad.” 

Stiles wasn’t sure what was going on. It was starting to feel like there was another conversation happening in front of him and he didn’t know what it was.

“He’s doesn’t. He’s simply calling in a favor for us,” Talia said. “You two enjoy your breakfast. Can you make sure Derek and Cora are ready to go by 10? We need to get down to the cemetery early.”

“Sure, Mom,” Laura replied, shoving the rest of her English muffin in her mouth.

Stiles stared wide eyed at the row of jams. “Your mother is amazing,” he whispered.

Laura smiled but had a far off expression in her eyes. “I know.”

  
  


  
When they arrived at the cemetery, Stiles let Laura and her family do their thing. They introduced him to a tall blond, Isaac, who shuffled them toward the gravesite and gave Stiles a look like he didn’t belong there. So he walked around, a bit sad, unable to avoid memories of his own mother’s funeral. That hadn’t been sudden either, and he knew that even if the Hales had been preparing for this, there was no way to make it any easier. Death and loss of a loved one was like losing a limb, whether it was a clean cut or a drawn out wound. You still lost a piece of yourself forever.

The service had a surreal quality to it. Before Stiles even registered that hundreds of people had shown up, Laura had come and taken his hand and made him sit down. He looked at the closed casket and felt a wave of pain for his best friend. Talia sat at the end of the row, stoic, but held Cora’s hand in her lap. He couldn’t tell if she was comforting her daughter, or if it was the other way around.

“We’re gathered today to celebrate the life of Clark Ignatius Hale,” a man spoke from the front. Stiles thought he might be Deaton. “I knew Clark for many years. I knew him before he became a big shot lawyer, before he settled down and started a family, before he really came into himself and found his place. I knew him only a few months before he met the woman who he would marry and spend his life with.” Deaton smiled and looked down. “You know someone is where they should be when their soul finally settles. When they finally have the peace that comes with being where they are meant to be.” The man looked up, nodding to the Hales, and continued, “Clark was a great lawyer. He could make people feel what he wanted them to feel. It was terrifying sometimes,” Deaton laughed.

Derek, in between his two sisters, stared at the funeral spread, the flowers, the casket, the framed photo on the easel. He didn’t move, he barely blinked, and Stiles wondered what was going through his head. He knew Laura had had a close, working relationship with her father, full of support and guidance. All he could remember about “D.J.” were things Laura had ranted about, things like how Derek was the golden boy who got away with everything. To her, his dropping out of med school should’ve been a wake up call to their parents, but instead, Derek was allowed to go to Europe to find himself.

“He was a great friend, too,” Deaton’s voice trembled. “Always knowing just what to say, and when to say it. I watched Clark raise a family, and every time I saw him with them, you could tell he knew how lucky he was to have them.”

Derek was lucky to have had parents who understood. And Stiles suddenly got very sad as his thoughts shifted to his own father, who had always been the most understanding person in his life.

“Stiles,” Laura whispered. He flinched and looked at her. She was holding a tissue out to him, and that’s when he realized he’d been crying.

After Deaton invited the family to speak, all the Hales, even Peter, who had been lurking on the other side of the chairs, rose and gathered around the casket. Stiles watched as Laura grabbed Derek’s shoulder and didn’t let go, while her brother stood with a hollowed out expression.

Talia spoke first, and Stiles was glad Laura had given him a tissue. From the lips of the strong, dominant matriarch, soft words of love and trust escaped. Stiles had never met Clark, and had never seen the two of them together. But as Talia spoke of loyalty, compassion, and trust, he felt as if their relationship had stood the test of more than just the average slew of couples problems. When she spoke of him standing by her side, when she called him her light in the darkness, Stiles felt like they had fought wars together and survived. “Finally,” Talia bit back a small sob. “Clark managed to remind us--every day--of the humanity we all possess. He was the heart and soul of this family.”

She stepped back and motioned for Laura to speak. Stiles hadn’t known she was going to say anything. “My father tended to see the good in people, even when they refused to see it themselves. He was supportive, and caring, and at the same time, the biggest hard ass I’ve ever known. When I told him I wanted to follow in his footsteps, he told me he would never be more disappointed if I did. He wanted me to choose my own path, and decide the destination of my journey. So I went away to college thinking I would end up somewhere other than where I am now, doing something else,” she started crying. “But every choice I’ve made has been my own, and somehow I’ve still managed to emulate him. I guess I didn’t want to follow in his footsteps, or be in his shadow, I just wanted to be like him. Strong, honest,” Laura glanced at Stiles, “And surrounded by the ones that I care about.”

She wiped the tears from her eyes and walked into her mother’s arms. Cora went forward, taking a piece of paper out of her coat pocket, and told the story of her father teaching her to drive. It had a few punchlines, caused a bit of laughter among the mourners, and she stepped back leaving everyone with a smile.

Talia, Laura, and Cora stood still for a while. After about a minute, Talia looked to Derek, who inched forward like it was the last thing he wanted to do. With wide eyes, he stared at the people in front of him. “My Dad,” he began, “was a great guy. Uhh, everything everyone has said so far is true.” He looked around and then down at his hands.  “But he didn’t--he wasn’t this righteous figure that gave out great advice all the time. He didn’t always have a punchline to make you feel better.” Derek stuck his hands in his pockets. “Dad was easygoing more than anything. He knew the world was the way that it was, and he’d have a harder time fighting it than trying to change everything he found fault with.” Derek gulped. “He took me camping and hiking, and showed me that being able to listen was just as important as being able to speak. He taught me that nature was beautiful, but violent too, and if you were going to live at all, you had to come to terms with the balance of the world.” Derek looked up, and met Stiles’ eyes for a moment, before turning to the other side of the crowd. “You can’t have happiness without pain, and you can’t have wisdom without mistakes.” He looked back at the coffin and furrowed his brows, adding, “You can’t have life without death.”

That was it. Stiles was going to need another tissue.

A few other family members got up to speak, and told stories of Clark being funny, heroic, but always emphasizing how human he was, and Stiles guessed they meant down to earth. He was great but flawed. Isaac stood up and shared the story of how Derek and then Cora befriended him, tutored him, and saved him from a bad situation at home. He started tearing up when he explained how Clark had welcomed him into their home countless times and finally rallied him into seeking emancipation from his abusive father. “He believed I was worthy of something better,” Isaac smiled. “He insisted, until I started to believe it myself.”

After everyone shared their memories and thoughts, Deaton returned with a battered wooden box. Talia nodded, and then Isaac went around to the back of the grave and started the machine to lower the coffin. Stiles watched absentmindedly as Talia and the rest of the Hales each put on a pair of black gloves and lined up in front of Deaton and his box.

Once the sound of the machine had stopped, Deaton opened the box and stepped aside. Talia reached in and pulled out a single purple flower, and Stiles blinked and leaned forward. It was one of the flowers she’d had him collect from the backyard the night before. He watched as she knelt, dropped the flower inside the grave, and bowed her head. It seemed strange to him that they weren’t using roses, but then again, it was probably a family thing, or a Clark thing. One by one, each and every family member followed Talia, dropping a purple flower in the grave.

When Laura returned to her seat next to Stiles, she had stopped crying but seemed shaken.

“Hey,” Stiles whispered and grabbed her hand. “I love you.”

She stared at him and then smiled. “I love you, too.”

  
  
  


When they arrived back at the house for the reception, Stiles lost Laura the minute they walked through the door. The place was packed with people, and he didn’t see a single person he knew. He headed to the sitting room and sat down on a window seat.

“You’re Laura’s friend, right?” Isaac plopped down next to him with a plate full of hors d'oeuvres. Stiles’ eyes bulged at the sight of crab cakes. He was starving.

He stuck his hand out to grab one but Isaac smacked it away. “Ouch! Hey! I may not survive long enough to find the buffet table.”

Isaac sighed, “It’s chaos in here.”

“But to answer your question,” Stiles said. “Yes, I am here with Laura.” The blond shoved the plate at Stiles and nodded for him to take what he wanted. Stiles grabbed three crab cakes and a bruschetta.

“Then,” Isaac eyed him as he shoved a crab cake in his mouth, “Why do you smell so much like Derek?”

Choking, Stiles managed to swallow down the food and gawk at Isaac. “He leant me some clothes, okay.”

Isaac shrugged. “Yeah, but then why were you staring at him the entire funeral, and weeping during his speech?”

“I wasn’t weeping,” Stiles spat.

“It was just raining on your face…” Isaac mused. He winked. “I get it. It’s obvious you’ve been pining over Derek for years.”

Stiles’ eyes bulged. “What?”

“Ever since you found out he was going on the family trip to Hawaii. I got the group email, and saw that after Laura replied saying Derek was actually coming, you immediately responding that you wouldn’t be able to make it.” Isaac leaned in, “You said something had just come up.”

“Yeah,” Stiles glared. “My best friend suddenly decided to get married.”

Isaac made a face like he didn’t believe Stiles, and then bit into a stuffed mushroom. Still chewing, he said, “I don’t know, then. I guess it was the way you were looking at him.”

“Jesus,” Stiles said eyes glued to the trainwreck that was Isaac’s chewing. “You were raised by wolves.”

Isaac smiled. “You have no idea.”

They sat for a while, Stiles ignoring Isaac’s blunt questions, and Isaac pointing out who half the people in the room were. Finally, Isaac saw Cora in the foyer and left Stiles with the empty plate and grumbling stomach. So he decided to brave the crowds and either find Laura or find food or both.

He made it to the dining room without seeing Laura, but felt the pull of the endless platters spread out on the table. He grabbed a plate and started piling things on it before catching sight of Derek. He had nestled himself in the corner, sitting on a stolen chair between the wall and the sideboard. A plate of untouched food in his lap, Derek’s eyes were resolutely fixed on the floor.

Stiles poured a glass of wine and headed over there before he talked himself out of it.

“Hey Derek,” he said. The other man shook himself out of his fixed gaze and stared up at Stiles. “You haven’t touched your food.”

Derek rolled his eyes and threw his hands in Stiles’ face, then pushed them on top of his food. “There,” he glared. “I touched my food.” They shared a look before Derek shrugged. Stiles leaned against the wall to the side of Derek, and started eating. He prefered the awkward silence between them over the potential introductions and awkward lies he might have to tell if he were on Laura’s arm.

“You were right,” Derek finally said. He looked up at Stiles just as he’d started licking the spicy mayo on the crab nachos.

“Hmm?” was all he could bring himself to say.

Derek half smiled. “I’ve been a terrible brother to Laura. I should have known who you were. I should’ve already met you. I’ve been living in New York. There’s no excuse. I just--” Derek huffed as he watched Stiles open his mouth wide to shovel in the rest of the wontons. “You eat just like Laura,” he cringed.

“What?” Stiles replied. “Now that is uncalled for. I’ll have you know I was cornered in the living room and unable to get sustenance for hours.”

“Stiles, it’s been forty minutes.”

They shared smiles before Stiles finished his food and knelt down. “You haven’t been a terrible brother, Derek. Granted, I don’t exactly have a real brother, but I have a best friend. And there have been times when he went off and did his own thing, left me in the dust, and I sat around butt hurt for what seemed like ages.”

“Laura’s, uh...’butt hurt’?” Derek asked.

“No,” Stiles said. “Not at all. If you hadn’t left her all alone, I never would have met her. She wouldn’t have branched out on her own and found herself the way she did. So, there’s that.” Stiles smiled and put his hand on Derek’s shoulder. “What would your dad say? If Laura knows the shitty brother, maybe it’s time she know the good brother, eh?”

Derek smiled, “My dad would say ‘It doesn’t look like art to me, but someone somewhere will probably enjoy it.’”

Stiles furrowed his brows. “Man, sitting there during the service, I just kept kicking myself over and over again. I wish I’d met him.”

“Yeah?” Derek asked. His eyes glossed over a bit but he started nodding. “He would’ve liked you.”

Derek and Stiles sat and exchanged dad stories until Laura shuffled into the room and stole Stiles away. They sat on top of the counter in the mudroom sharing a bottle of wine and commiserating. Stiles had eaten too much, and Laura had a hoarse throat from all the talking.

After the house emptied out, Laura and Stiles headed upstairs to lay down for a nap.

“Hey, how come you didn’t introduce me to anybody today as your fiance? Or like, the love of your life? Or your knight in--”

“Stiles,” Laura sighed and motioned for him to come sit on the bed. “My mom and I decided we could beat Peter without having to lie. In fact,” she grabbed Stiles’ arm. “Mom says if I am single, it will look better than if I’m a thirty-something married woman. To the board.”

“Huh.” Stiles half smiled.

“She’s going to speak on my behalf and recommend me as chairwoman. If she has to, she’ll call Uncle Peter out on his shit.” Laura fell back and smashed her face into the pillow. “And if it all works out,” she turned. “I’ll be able to stay in the Boston or New York office.”

“What?” Stiles laid back and grabbed her arm. “That’s great news! We’d still be on the same coast, you’d still get to be head honcho.” Suddenly the sad feeling Stiles had felt in his gut all day turned into a sort of blistering excitement.

“Oh, and Stiles?”

“Hmm?” he nuzzled into the pillow.

“Mom has known all along about you and Derek,” Laura whispered.

Stiles bolted up and screamed, “What?”

She laughed. “Apparently Derek texted Cora after he landed that he was staying with a friend. Um, Isaac is his only friend in town, so when they figured out he wasn’t with him, Mom went out looking for Derek.”

“Oh no,” Stiles gulped down. “Please tell me--”

“I think she just saw the Camaro at the hotel and put two and two together,” Laura interrupted. “At least, let’s hope...after what you told me.” She shuddered.

Stiles closed his eyes and sighed, “So basically your family has been fucking with me since I got here.”

“Well, Derek was just fucking you, but yeah,” Laura glared. “You could say that. It helped that they were screwing with Derek’s head too.”

“And you didn’t think it was important to tell me?”

“I only found out last night after dinner!” Laura said. Stiles huffed and closed his eyes. “Isaac sure did grow up since the last time I saw him.”

Stiles cringed. “That guy is a menace.”

“He’s kind of got that Hellenistic vibe going for him though,” Laura mused. “It’s hot.”

“If you get to talk about his body, then I get to talk about Derek’s--”

“Okay!” Laura stopped him. “I’m tired. Please don’t give me nightmares.”

They fell asleep sprawled out on top of the covers and slept until Cora knocked on the door, letting them know dinner was ready.

They headed downstairs, but at the bottom of the stairs, Laura pulled Stiles into the sitting room. “Stiles, I really do appreciate you being here for me,” she said sincerely. “I don’t know if I would have made it through the last twenty-four hours without you.”

“Laura,” Stiles hugged her. “I wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for you. I’d do anything for you. And not just because you gave me a kidney.”

She gave him a smile before heading for the dining room, and he knew she was rushing away to hide her tears. Everyone was already there, crowded around the table, so Stiles had to sit on the end of the table next to Aunt Cathy, and on her other side, Laura sat across from Isaac and Derek.

“Today was wonderful,” Talia beamed from the head of the table. “It was a great celebration of Clark’s life, and I’m thankful all of you were here for it.” She smiled, “Let’s eat.”

Everyone else seemed to pile their plates with food, but Stiles was still a little full from the reception. He put a little salad on his plate but mostly poked his fork at it.

He let himself listen in on some of the small talk before he felt the need to say something.

“So, I just thought I would let everyone know,” Stiles smiled and looked at Laura. “That Laura and I are officially not faking being engaged anymore.” Cora spit a piece of chicken across the table. Everyone’s silverware clanked against their plates. Stiles continued, “The reason being...everyone seems to know it’s not Laura that I’m actually interested in.”

Stiles dared a glance at Talia, who was smiling ear to ear. Laura caught his stare, looked a bit pissed but still had a smile on her face. Then he chanced a look at Derek. The guy had his eyes glued to the tablecloth in shock.

“Well,” Isaac threw an arm over Derek’s shoulder. “It’s a good thing Laura already vetted this one.”

Derek turned to the blond and gave him a stale look. “What do you mean?”

“You know,” Isaac smiled and gave Stiles a wink from across the table. “You’ve finally got a boyfriend who won’t be scared away by your big, bad werewolf family.”

Derek’s eyes bulged.

Stiles felt someone kick Isaac from under the table and dropped his forkful of salad.

He blinked and shook his head. “Were--” but his mouth smacked shut when Derek met his eyes.

Isaac leaned back and kept his gaze on the table. “So...not something Stiles knew then...”

“Werewolves?” Stiles finally blurted. “That explains so much.”

  
  


Epilogue

 

 

Stiles waited another ten minutes before he called Laura to see where she was. Luckily, he had a key to her new condo in the city and just let himself in to wait.

“Laura,” he chimed. “I’m at your place, where are you?”

He heard some laughter on the other end and then her voice. “I’m just coming home with Derek.”

“Derek?” Stiles panicked. He hadn’t actually seen him since California. They’d been exchanging texts, and emails, and even Skyped twice, but--

“We’re on a our way up,” she said and ended the call.

Shit. He wasn’t prepared for this. What if Derek just brushed him off? What if Derek didn’t want to go out with him? Stiles rushed to the bathroom and smoothed out his hair, checked his teeth, and just sat down on the couch when the two shuffled through the door.

He stood up to greet them. “Hey,” he smiled and went to hug Laura. He and Derek shared a glance and Stiles wanted to curl up and die. “Well congrats, and everything, are in order. I bought some champagne and it’s the real stuff this time, not that sparkling wine shit we drank when you passed the bar.”

“It’s official now,” Laura beamed. “First board meeting, new office. I even have a driver named Carlos.”

It hadn’t be difficult for her to win the board over, especially after Peter showed up to the meeting twenty minutes late with a streak of chocolate syrup in his hair.

Stiles smiled and popped the champagne. After the three toasted to Laura, he tried to casually inquire into Derek’s life.

“So, Derek,” Stiles started. “Too busy howling at the moon to take a guy out?”

Laura burst out laughing and walked into the living room to fiddle with the stereo. Derek stared at Stiles with a disapproving smile. “You know, we don’t actually do that, typically,” Derek finally said, coming up to stand next to Stiles. The heat from the proximity made Stiles sigh.

“Oh, I know. Laura explained everything,” Stiles replied. “So did the hundred or so books I read on lycanthropy.” He leaned in and pressed his nose into Derek’s ear. “I was just hoping to get first hand experience with one,” he whispered. “Take one out to dinner, maybe go see a non-werewolf film. Eat some empanadas. Watch a baseball game. Spend some quality time inspecting each others--”

“That’s enough, Stiles,” Laura shouted over the Killers. “You can see Derek’s Mating Ritual Dance elsewhere, preferably somewhere far, far away from me.”

Derek smiled at him and mouthed “Later” before going into the living room with the bottle of champagne in hand, accompanied by some terrible dance moves. After about six songs, a few almost falls, and the emptying of the champagne bottle, Stiles had crashed on the couch. Laura and Derek weren’t too far behind him. Derek had his head in Stiles lap and his feet draped over Laura’s legs when he said, “We should do this more often.”

“Celebrate how awesome I am?” Laura smiled. “Yeah, we should.”

They sat in silence for an entire Muse song before Laura’s phone started ringing. She took one look at the screen and jumped up. “You guys should probably go,” she said. “You know, go out, do your thing. Whatever thing it is that you want to do.”

“What?” Stiles croaked. “Are you suggesting--”

“Just...I’m tired.” Laura pouted. “It’s been quite a day, need to...need to sleep. Tomorrow is a new one…”

Derek stood up and squinted. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with Isaac calling you at dinner and you going outside to say, ‘I’ll call you later, baby’... would it?”

Laura’s mouth dropped and she clutched her vibrating phone to her chest. She looked at Stiles and said, “Werewolves. Can’t live with ‘em…” She made for her bedroom and yelled, “You can let yourselves out and lock up. Good night!” Before slamming the door abruptly.

Stiles looked at Derek, who seemed to stare at the front door with a look of panic.

“Hey,” Stiles said and grabbed Derek’s arm. “I’m cool with you walking me downstairs to the cab and saying goodnight, you know.” Except that he’d be pretty disappointed. Since getting back from his trip, Stiles couldn’t stop thinking about him.

“No,” Derek replied. He grabbed Stiles hand and led them out of the apartment. “I just left my loft in a bit of a mess before I went to meet Laura.”

Stiles sighed and followed Derek to the elevator and then into a cab. They talked about where he lived, how far it was from the gallery, how he was making an effort to see Laura at least twice a week. They even talked about Stiles’ summer classes a little, and Derek laughed at some of Stiles’ thinly veiled werewolf jokes. When they finally made it to Derek’s loft, Stiles could feel the apprehension rippling off the other man in waves.

“I’m serious, Derek,” Stiles said, pressing a kiss to his neck. “I’m fine with you know, the couch, or some cuddling, or like, giving you whatever space you need.”

Derek’s shoulders tensed after he unlocked the door and they walked inside. “It’s not that I need or want space, Stiles,” he explained and then dropped his gaze to Stiles’ lips. “It’s the opposite. I just--you only wanted me as a one night thing before you knew I was Laura’s brother.”

Derek took off his jacket and grabbed two beers from the fridge. Stiles looked around the loft, and took in how tidy it was. There were two bowls and a mug in the sink, but nothing that would warrant Derek calling it a mess. He pulled himself up on a barstool and watched as Derek took a long swig of beer. “I think I want something more than just sex from you,” Derek finally said and stared at Stiles.

“First,” Stiles said as he stepped off the barstool and walked around to stand next to Derek. “I walked away from that night thinking how awesome it would be if we could start something when we both got back to the east coast.” He smiled as Derek processed his words. “And when I found out you were Laura’s brother, I was a bit miffed that I didn’t figure it out, but I think it made me want you even more. So,” Stiles grabbed Derek’s neck and pulled him a breath’s distance from his face. “You could say I want more than sex from you, Derek.”

He finally met Derek’s lips in a slow and steady kiss that he felt he’d been waiting entirely too long for. Stiles grabbed onto Derek’s hips and pressed him into the counter, deepening their kiss and closing any gaps between them. Derek’s hands found their way into Stiles’ hair, and they stood there chest to chest remapping each other’s mouths. It was frantic, almost, the way Derek licked into his mouth, and Stiles felt his chest swell with something like longing. When Derek finally broke away and dipped his head down, mouthing at Stiles’ jaw, Stiles pulled his shirt and said, “Bed. Now.”

Derek nodded and led them to the other side of a set of bookshelves, where a low bed with a few pillows waited in the low light.

“I’ve been thinking about this for weeks,” Derek said as he pulled Stiles’ shirt over his head. He pushed Stiles onto the bed gently, knelt down and a kissed his neck. “You--” he breathed, “have--no idea,” Derek finished and then left a trail of kisses down Stiles’ chest. Derek had his pants unbuckled when Stiles stopped him.

“Dude,” he breathed, and pointed to Derek’s shirt. “Am I gonna have to rip that one off too?”

Derek smiled and pulled his shirt off, “Happy?”

Stiles eyes dropped as he took in Derek’s body. The shadows made his muscles even more defined. “Ye-eeah, you could say that,” he stammered. Derek went back to taking off Stiles’ pants, and before he had time to think about them maybe taking it slow, Derek’s mouth was around his cock and Stiles was moaning Derek’s name.

“I was thinking,” Stiles finally managed to stay after a few minutes. He grabbed onto Derek’s neck and pulled him up. “Maybe we should take it slow,” but then Derek kissed him and reached over to the nightstand. When Stiles felt the heat of Derek’s cock against his, he realized at some point Derek must have taken off his own pants.

“I can do slow,” Derek smiled into Stiles’ lips. Stiles registered a bit of movement, and then Derek wrapped an arm around him and shifted them to their sides. He felt a lubed finger brush against his entrance, and Derek asked, “Is this okay?”

Stiles responded with a kiss, and moaned into Derek’s mouth when he pushed in. Stiles lifted his leg and let Derek work him open, all the while grinding their cocks together in a slow rhythm. It felt amazing to be so close to Derek again, touching him and feeling the sparks between them.

Derek pulled him into a sideways embrace and started sucking on his collarbone. So Stiles buried his head in Derek’s neck and pressed down on his finger, saying between breaths, “More, Derek. Please.”

When Derek added another finger, Stiles lost it and a wave of pleasure hit him. He started grinding down even harder and moaning incoherently. “Woah there,” Derek breathed. He pushed Stiles onto his back and straddled his chest. Stiles looked up at him with lust blown eyes. “Will you--”

“You don’t have to ask, Derek,” Stiles said and pulled Derek’s hips forward. He pushed his cock up and sucked on his balls, and Stiles half smiled at the sounds Derek started making. He moved up a bit and llicked up to the head of Derek’s cock. Staring up at Derek, who towered above him, Stiles’ mouth fell open. Derek looked down at him through his lashes and grabbed Stiles’ hair as if asking for more.

Stiles acquiesced by sliding his tongue over Derek’s cock a few times before finally taking it into his mouth and pushing down to the base. Derek moaned and leaned back a bit, moving a hand behind him to start stroking Stiles’ dick while he straddled him. Stiles dug his hands into Derek’s hips and guided them back and forth. He grabbed Derek’s other hand and made him cradle his neck so he’d stay propped up, and when Stiles guided Derek’s hips forward, he took him in all the way to the base.

“Stiles,” Derek murmured, and pulled back. “Flip over.”

Stiles smiled and turned over, propping himself up on his elbows. He felt the familiar feeling of Derek’s mouth against his ass, the stubble trailing kisses, and Derek’s hands all over his back--always with the back. Derek pushed Stiles’ shoulders onto the mattress and held him there while he let his tongue slide over his entrance. It was half a minute before Stiles was moaning, and pushing back into Derek’s tongue. He vaguely remembered saying they should take things slow, but thought he was going to come apart at any second when Derek grabbed his cock, tongued the head, and then trailed a wet line up to Stiles’ entrance.

“Now,” Stiles panted, and looked behind him, “Please, Derek.” But Derek just stuck a thumb in his mouth and then pushed inside Stiles before ducking down and taking his cock back into his mouth. The glint in Derek’s eye was the last thing Stiles remembered seeing before he squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in the mattress.

All he could feel were the waves hitting him from Derek’s mouth and then his fingers inside him. “Fuck,” Stiles said, and started grinding back.

Derek stopped and pulled back for a second. He covered Stiles back with his chest, wrapped his arm around Stiles’ stomach and pulled him close. “Stiles,” he said. He felt Derek’s breath on his neck and moaned in response. “I finally get to say your name this time around.” Derek teased Stiles with the head of his cock against his hole. And when he finally eased in, he groaned a string of curse words, before he grabbed at Stiles’ hips and pulled him back to bottom out.

Stiles felt so full, but he didn’t have to adjust too much. Derek had him so prepped and wound up, he just started grinding back against him, slowly at first, pulling abrupt moans out of them both. Derek’s hands were all over him, tracing his back, trailing down his thighs, until finally resting on his hips to quicken the pace. A few sharp thrusts, and Derek’s arms wrapped around Stiles’ shoulders, pulling them together, back to chest. The rhythm was off, with short, deep movements, and Derek forced Stiles off his elbows and down on the mattress. He pushed his face to the side and met Stiles’ mouth with a hungry kiss. They stayed that way for a while, warm deep kisses, tongues and moans, and the gentle roll of Derek’s hips, until Stiles broke away and said, “C’mon, Derek, fuck me.”

The response he got was instantaneous. Derek straightened up and pushed down on Stiles’ shoulder blades, then started pounding into him. And the angle seemed to be perfect for both of them, because Stiles let out a half scream before throwing his arms back and searching for a part of Derek to touch. Derek leaned down and kissed his neck, but kept up the faster pace. Stiles didn’t remember the last time being like this, like he was being overtaken by Derek. His hands were everywhere, his voice was in his ear moaning, “Stiles”, and when Stiles straightened up on his knees, Derek’s burning hands were pressing against his stomach, pushing them even closer together.

“C’mon,” Stiles whispered, and pushed them back and onto their sides. He rolled more so he was on his back until he was comfortable enough to pull a leg up. He could easily see Derek’s face this way, and rocked down onto him, watching his face tense in pleasure with every movement. A hand came up and pulled Stiles into a sloppy kiss, and Derek took over the thrusting. He sucked his way across Stiles collarbone and neck while Stiles started stroking himself.

When Derek finally sat up and propped himself between Stiles’ legs, Stiles was falling apart. He draped a leg over Derek’s shoulder and increased his strokes. “I’m close,” he said between moans, and Derek replied with a kiss to his calf and a faster pace.

Between the string of half words, “Yeahs”, and “Oh god”, Stiles stroked himself through his orgasm, keeping his eyes glued to Derek’s, who fucked him through it. He finally lost it and yelled before throwing his head back and arching up. Stiles felt Derek pull out, and lazily stroked himself down while Derek gripped his own cock and came all over Stiles’ stomach.

Derek knelt above him, unmoving, and Stiles looked from him to the pool of cum all over his chest and stomach, and laughed. Derek smiled down at him, his green eyes barely discernible behind his pupils.

“Let me help with that,” he said, and bent over, licking from Stiles’ belly button up his sternum. He met his mouth with a deep kiss and groaned. “Stiles,” he breathed, and smiled.

“Yeah,” Stiles half scoffed. “You didn’t exactly spend the whole time screaming my name like you promised.”

Derek gave him a frown and collapsed next to him. “We’ll not this round.”

“This round?” Stiles felt his sore muscles already.

“You know,” Derek smiled against his shoulder. “Werewolf refractory time? Or did you not read about that in one of your lycanthropy books?”

Stiles closed his eyes, “Oh my god.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clark's funeral and burial was a pack burial. Even though he was human, they still honored him in the way they would a werewolf.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments always appreciated.


End file.
